Four Saturdays
by krumkler
Summary: In which a flimsy excuse gives Castle four whole Saturdays of Beckett-time, leading a friendship to deepen and the embers of love to kindle.
1. The Setup

**Disclaimer:** Don't own

**A/N:** Hi again! I honestly didn't think I'd write another fanfic after The Art of Living ... but alas. These things do suck you in. I'd like to throw a little hope out there. All the gloomy doomsday-naysaying in fanfic is harshing my mellow, and the foreshadowing on actual eps is worrying me. So I wanted to write something that focuses on the positive aspects of our fave couple's relationship, and the fact that they are generally, you know, decent folks who genuinely respect and look out for each other.

Takes place in current season four. This one took a spin in the fluff-o-matic 3000.

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><p><strong>Four Saturdays 15  
><strong>

**The Setup**

Beckett was seated at her desk, immersed in finishing off paperwork for the case she and her team had just wrapped up, when Castle vaulted himself into his usual seat by her desk.

"I know what I want for my birthday!" Castle declared, his excitement almost knocking her over.

"Of course you do," she replied, trying studiously not to pay any attention to him. If she let Castle distract her she would never get her work done, and right now she was intent on finishing up the paperwork for their most recent case: if she kept up this pace, she could be home in an hour and a half, and immersed deep in a hot bath within two hours. She'd been at work since 4AM, and kept awake all last night by an inconsistency in the case she was currently tying up. Now that it was about wrapped up, she needed to retreat, to recoup. What she wouldn't do for a hot bath, she sighed with longing at the mere thought of being blanketed in that warm cocoon, bubbles fizzling lightly against her skin...

"My birthday is in a few weeks," he elaborated, leaning forward to get into her field of vision and interrupting her fantasy, "and I know what gift I want from you. By my calculations," he informed her with slight recrimination, "you owe me four years worth of backlogged birthday gifts."

"I do not owe you four years worth of birthday gifts," she said without looking up from the form she was filling out.

"Let's do the math together, shall we? Year one-"

"I have paperwork to finish, Castle," she pointed out, not unkindly. "I want to get home at a reasonable hour tonight."

"Year one," he continued, completely ignoring her, "I got you an advance copy of Storm Falling."

"You did not get me that for my birthday!" she exclaimed, caught somewhere between indignation and laughter. She pointed a recriminating finger at his nose. "You gave me the advanced copy to trick me into letting my guard down so you could steal files off my desk, you sneak."

"You say tomayto, I say tomahto."

"You are unbelievable," she accused with a smile. First he kept score of who saved whose life, and now this.

"If you mean unbelievably hurt that you have yet to get me a birthday gift, then yes, it is unbelievable." He was, much to her chagrin - and her amusement - completely serious. "Year two, I gave you an all-inclusive three day retreat at Chez Castle."

She frowned in confusion. "A three-day retreat?" Surely she would remember that...

"I let you stay at my loft after your apartment blew up," he clarified.

"How can you possibly count that," she protested. "You made Montgomery force me into staying at your loft after a serial killer decided I was really Nikki Heat and blew up my home."

"Can I help it if my writing is so realistic that people can't tell it apart from fiction?"

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Year three, I helped set up the Johanna Beckett Memorial Fund."

She had no answer to that.

He grinned smugly in the comfort of his one little victory.

It was hardly fair, she thought mutinously. There was nothing she could think of doing that could show just how much the fund he set up in honour of her mother meant to her. It had been an overwhelmingly sweet gesture, one that still warmed her through to the tips of her fingers. She could hardly point out that he hadn't done it anywhere near her birthday. And she could definitely not refuse him his intrusive birthday request after what he'd done for her mother.

"You can level that scary look at me all you want," he said, eyes shining with amusement. "I'm not above playing dirty to get a birthday gift from you this year. Four years, Beckett, and you have not honoured the day I was brought into this world."

"How ever have you survived," she said wryly.

"It is my cross to bear," he acknowledged with more than a touch of melodrama. "So," he said happily, "you owe me four years worth of gifts."

"That's only three you've listed," she reminded him. "None of which were actually birthday gifts, might I add."

"This year - number four - I gave you the gift of seeing me dressed up as Elvis."

"Gave me the gift?" she repeated, unable to stop herself from picking on him. "More like scarred my retinas."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're not very good at accepting presents?"

Kate tried really hard not to roll her eyes. Her bath was becoming a more and more distant dream. He was a dog with a bone when he got like this.

"And there's that scary look again," he said, not in the least bit concerned, let alone afraid.

Clearly, she used it too much on him if he was immune to it.

"So for my birthday..." he paused for dramatic effect, which only served to deepen Kate's worry, "...I want four of your Saturdays."

"You want what now?"

"I get to spend four Saturdays with you," he explained.

"What?" She stared at him. "Why?"

He looked at her wearing that I-have-a-hidden-agenda-I-don't-want-you-to-know-about expression on his face.

"No," she said. And then went back to her work.

"You're just going to say no?" he protested, sitting up straight in his chair. "Just like that?"

She flicked a knowing glance at him. "When you're ready to tell me what this is really about, I'll listen."

He studied her for a moment before nodding reluctantly, looking boyish and appealing in the buttery light cast by her desk-lamp.

"I shadow you at work all the time," he said, "and it's made Nikki Heat my most popular character. I know the ins and outs of Detective Kate Beckett, but I don't know what you do in your off time. What do you do when you have a Saturday to yourself? I've known you for four years and I don't know. I don't have much of a clue."

"So this is about muse duties?" she asked, not exactly disappointed. Really, she wasn't. It was just that she'd expected … something else. Maybe. She rallied: "And it's called a private life, Castle. I'm pretty sure we've had this talk before: we established clear boundaries when we first started this unorthodox partnership." She cherished boundaries exactly as much as Castle trampled all over them. She also wasn't quite ready to let Castle barge completely into her life and occupy every nook and cranny. Well, more than he already had. She needed time.

"An unorthodox partnership that I like to think has evolved into one of my most cherished friendships." He smiled warmly at her.

Point for Castle, Kate conceded, trying not to smile. And damn him for being so sweet.

She floundered for an excuse.

"You've already written three Nikki Heat books. I think you've got the character down."

"As an aficionado of the Derrick Storm series, you should know that-"

"I would hardly call myself an aficionado," she interrupted defensively.

"Please," he dismissed her protest with a wave of his hand. "You subscribe to my fansite, iHeartCastle82."

"Oh jeez, Castle," this time she didn't bother withholding an eye-roll, "that is not a handle I would ever be caught dead using."

"One day, I will find out what your username is," he vowed.

She could assure him with a hundred percent certainty that he most certainly would never find that out. She held her silence, eyebrow raised in challenge.

They engaged in a staring contest that lasted about three seconds, with Castle - as was usually the case - throwing in the towel. She very maturely hid her smug surge of satisfaction at winning this round.

"As I was saying," he continued, when he realized he wouldn't be getting any answers to that line of inquiry today, "as a Derrick Storm expert, you know that to create a successful long-running, character-based series, an author has to develop a meaningful and evolving character arc for the protagonist. In this case: Nikki Heat. Readers know what drives her, they know what holds her back, but now they need to know that she is more than the sum of those parts of her. They need depth, they need more than the job and the back-story. I just … would like to explore Nikki's character from different angles. She keeps telling me to focus on her kick-ass cop skills, but I know there's more to her."

The subtext was hitting awfully close to home. She wondered if he realized. For a man who had such a masterful grasp of literary devices, she thought that he sometimes lived in the stories and forgot about the opportunities reality afforded.

"Already running out of material, Castle?" she settled for teasing him.

"You know better than that." His reply was nothing if not sincere.

"Castle," she started to protest - he'd hardly needed her help in developing his character in the past -, but stopped when she saw how his eyes remained expectantly fixed on hers. She could see how badly he wanted this. It written all over his face.

"It's for my birthday, Kate," he appealed to her softer side, much to her dismay. Somewhere along the road, she'd stopped being able to say no when Castle asked. "Please? For me?"

She sighed, felt herself giving in to his pleas. How bad could it be? They'd spend a day together. Castle had been good, for the most part, about giving her the space she needed after the summer. It was not as though he was asking her out on a date, right? And for all he'd done for her, this could be her way of giving him something back. She purposefully shoved the memory of his whispered confession from months ago out of her head. Now was not the time to dwell on the guilt and pain and anger and raw hurt she still felt at remembering that afternoon, and the days preceding it.

"One Saturday," she offered.

"Four entire weekends," he countered.

"That is not how you bargain, Castle," she scolded him.

"That is exactly how I bargain," he informed her. "You made a completely unreasonable counter-offer, so you left me no choice but to do the same."

She gave him a glare that held no strength, only humour.

"Two Saturdays," she said.

"Four Saturdays. It's my birthday, Beckett. How can you say no to a birthday wish?"

"Ugh," she groused, caving in to his emotional blackmail. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"And they have to be Saturdays when you are not working or on call." He held out a hand. "Shake on it."

"What are we, twelve?"

He arched an eyebrow, the way he usually did when she was being stubbornly recalcitrant.

"Fine," she conceded and took his hand in hers, giving it a firm shake. Her heart worked double time to beat out of her chest. Why that was, she cared not to contemplate. "Saturdays when I'm not working."

"Or on call," he added pointedly.

"Or on call," she repeated.

Castle was grinning widely at her, as gleeful as she'd ever seen him.

"Best. Birthday. Gift. Ever." His eyes were quite literally sparkling, bursting with happiness.

She couldn't help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm. And optimism. Even though the enthusiasm worried her. And the optimism baffled her. Then again, Castle's ability to take immense pleasure in the smallest of things was one of the things she found most fascinating and, to tell the truth, attractive about him.

"How do you know these won't be miserable Saturdays for your character development?" she couldn't help but ask. 'What if I spend my days off doing laundry?"

"Then I'll offer to fold your intimates," he wagged his eyebrows. "It'd still be the best birthday gift ever."

"How very gallant of you," she injected a heavy dose of sarcasm in her reply.

"They won't be miserable Sundays. I like spending time with you," he said with certainty, and perhaps more sincerity than she was ready for. "More importantly," he continued blithely, "for all your bluster, Katherine Beckett, you forget how well I know you. You're too pure of heart to make me suffer through menial chores."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she lifted an eyebrow at his transparency.

"That wasn't flattery," he corrected with a grin, "that was charm."

She laughed. "Go home, Castle, and let me finish my paperwork." She waved him off with her pen, and bent her head down in an attempt to reclaim the focus Castle had interrupted.

"Will do." He stood up from his chair. "And, Kate?"

"Hm?" she replied, not looking up from the file in front of her.

"Thank you. Really."

She looked up at him, pulled by the warmth in his tone.

"Happy birthday, Castle," she said, wondering whether anything she could do would live up the to expectations he seemed to have set.

"It definitely will be," he grinned lightly, his eyes holding the tender affection that once upon a time unsettled her. Now, it centered her. "Until tomorrow." He turned and headed for the elevators.

She watched him go, not returning to the files in front of her until the elevator doors shut behind him.

* * *

><p>"You're in an awfully good mood," Martha commented from the couch the minute he walked into his loft.<p>

"Today was a good day," he replied with a wide smile.

"An especially gruesome murder?" she asked, browsing a catalogue with a glass of wine in hand.

"Nope." He stopped himself when he recalled the case they actually had worked on today. "Well, yes actually, there was that, too."

At that, she set aside her magazine completely and focused on him. She loved gossip more than she did catalogue-shopping.

"Then what has you smiling like the cat that ate the canary?"

"Beckett gave me my birthday gift today," he grinned.

"Really?" His mother perked with excitement. "What did she get you?"

"Four of her Saturdays," he said as he took a seat next to her on the couch.

Confusion met his reply.

"She offered to spend four Saturdays with me," he elaborated. "Four of her days off."

"That is awfully generous of her," Martha said, not without a little wonder. His mother was not unfamiliar with Beckett's wall. "This is a good thing, right?"

"I may have ... begged a little," he said, thinking that he perhaps ought to feel a little bad about that. But he didn't. Not even in the least. Even if he'd exploited her exhaustion over the case they'd been working on the past couple of days to catch her while she was weakest. After all, what was the point of knowing someone so well if you didn't use that knowledge for their own good? "But it's the thought that counts, right?" he defended at his mother's disbelieving stare.

"Well, Darling," she said after a moment's thought, "no one really cares how the sausage is made, after all."

They shared a doubtful look.

"This is a good thing," he said decisively, breaking their stalemate.

"Let's go with that," Martha agreed. She raised her glass in a silent toast.

"It is a good thing," he repeated in an attempt to convince them both. "99% of the time I spend in Beckett's company is spent solving murders - not that I don't enjoy that aspect of our relationship - but this way I can spend time with her without a stranger's death hanging over us."

"Or her mother's?" Martha suggested.

Castle sighed. "That, too," he agreed. "She holds onto it so tightly. I just … want her to let it go. "

"It has made her who she is, Richard."

"I know," he replied. "I know, but there is so much more to her. I can see glimpses of it." He cast an uncertain glance at his mother. "Outside of work, where she's not Det. Beckett, maybe I'll be able to get a better look at her without the specter hanging over her."

"And set your mind at ease. You still blame yourself for what happened," she stated, more than asked. He could hear her disapproval.

He said nothing. They both knew the answer.

"Richard, it wasn't your fault-"

"Regardless of whether or not it was my fault" he interjected, "I should be helping her get closure. Not re-opening old wounds."

"This is not your battle," she said gently.

"I'm on her team, Mother. I've made it my battle."

"I think you've helped her get closure more than you give yourself credit for," she gave him a pointed look, the scolding kind only a parent was capable of.

He wasn't convinced. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could still see the hurt in her eyes when she'd looked at him the night Montgomery was killed. He could still hear the crack in her voice when she'd told him, months later, that she had no one left.

Martha sighed, and he knew she was going to let it go. For the moment.

"Four Saturdays, huh?" she said lightly, attempting to alleviate the sombre mood. "Try not to drive the poor girl crazy."

"But mother," he teased, "it's what I do best."


	2. Buildup and the First

**A/N:** Thank you for the feedback. Based on it, I added a bit more meat to this chapter. After all, fluff is best when it's balanced out with a bit of ... protein? You get my gist. Anyways, it's fun to change stuff around based on your comments. Nice challenge and (I think) it makes the story better when I know what you'd like to see in it.

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><p><strong>Four Saturdays 25**

**The Build-up and the First**

_About a week later..._

Kate and Castle leaned against her desk, side by side, facing the murder board. He was mulling over the case. She was busy mulling over what exactly she was supposed to do this Saturday. She had, much to her frustration, been mulling over it for far too long. All week, in fact. She hated not knowing what she was doing ten steps in the future. True to form when faced with her own indecision, Kate was getting annoyed with herself.

"It has to be gremlins," Castle said thoughtfully as he looked at the pic of their victim. "There's no other possible explanation."

"So." She turned to face him abruptly, no longer able to stand the uncertainty. "What kind of thing should I plan?"

"What do you mean?" he looked at her in confusion. "About the gremlins?"

"No, Castle," she rolled her eyes with impatience. "Not the gremlins: for this Saturday. When you…" she searched for an appropriate word, "spend the day with me."

"Don't plan anything." He shrugged. "Just do what you normally do. I'll follow you around."

She stared at him.

"That's creepy," she said. "You do realize that's creepy."

"Dude," Ryan interrupted, having overheard their conversation as he and Esposito approached the murderboard. "That is creepy."

Kate leaned back against the desk, mildly annoyed with herself for letting the peanut gallery overhear their conversation. They'd never let her hear the end of it.

"Why is Castle following you around on your day off?" Esposito butted in, "Something you want to tell us?" He had that smug look on his face, the knowing spark in his eyes.

"Don't you two have leads to follow?" Kate asked them.

"Nope." Esposito said, the very picture of innocence. "I don't have any leads. Do you, Ryan?"

"No leads here," Ryan replied cheekily.

"There's this crazy thing called a private life," she said, shaking her head in mild exasperation, "I don't interfere in any of yours," here she leveled a pointed look at Esposito. He just kept giving her that maddening grin.

"Beckett is going to spend four Saturdays with me." Castle blurted out, unable to contain himself. He grinned smugly at the boys, looking very self-satisfied. "It's her birthday gift to me," he informed them with a wag of his eyebrows.

"And so much for a private life," Beckett said, but no one was really paying her any attention.

"It's for research," Castle elaborated.

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Ryan teased.

"Are you taking requests now, Beckett?" Esposito said, relishing this all far too much. "Because if you are, I'd like one of your home-made cherry pies for my next birthday."

"You make home-made cherry pies?" Castle asked in a near-whine, all his self-satisfaction gone. "And I didn't know? See, this is exactly why I need to spend four Saturdays with you."

Beckett leveled a half-amused, half-warning glare at Esposito. "How many times do I have to say it, Espo: don't feed the animals."

"I thought you had him house-trained by now," Esposito defended with a shrug.

"Ha-ha. Aren't you two hilarious," Castle said, not impressed by their banter.

"What do you have planned?" Ryan asked, looking from her to Castle.

"That is none of your business," Kate interjected. She would forever be fascinated by what busybodies her team members were. "And they say women are gossips."

"She's going to take me for a ride on her motorcycle," Castle answered.

"I am not taking you out on my bike," she cut him with a swift look.

"You just asked me what I wanted to do," he defended.

"And you said to go about business as usual."

"Which would be?" He leaned towards her, eyes wide with anticipation.

"You'll have to wait until Saturday to find out."

He grinned giddily at Ryan and Esposito. "I love surprises!"

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><p>"What've you got for us, Lanie," Kate said as she entered the morgue, Castle only a step behind her.<p>

"I'm waiting on the toxicology reports," Lanie replied picking up a clipboard that was set on the table next to their vic. "They should be here any minute, but I can confirm that COD was multiple stab wounds, all below his waist. The one that severed his femoral artery probably did him in. He bled out."

"Gremlins," Castle looked sagely at Lanie. "That's our working theory for the moment."

"I'm so close to sending you home," she threatened him, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

"So," Lanie said, casually making notes on her clipboard, "I hear you two have weekend plans."

Kate sighed.

"Word really does travel fast," she couldn't help but comment. She was now stoically resigned to everyone being aware of the four Saturdays she was giving to Castle. This was why she never talked about private matters at the precinct: everyone ended up knowing about it.

"We're spending Saturday together," Castle said happily.

"Is that so," Lanie leveled Kate with an appraising look.

"Yep," he replied. The smile did not fade an inch from his face. "Beckett's birthday gift to me."

"Isn't that sweet of you," Lanie said to her, an eyebrow cocked.

Kate knew that expression.

"How about we talk about the actual case at hand?" Kate suggested.

"But this is so much more fun," Lanie replied.

"It is so much more fun," Castle agreed, giving Kate an enthusiastic nod. He turned back to Lanie. "I don't know what we're going to be doing yet. It's a surprise," he added conspiratorially.

Kate sighed again. Clearly this was a lost cause.

"Are there any professionals left in law enforcement?" she asked rhetorically.

"I've got the toxicology report here, Dr. Parish," Alexis chose that moment to enter the morgue, a file in her hand. She caught sight of Kate and Castle. "Oh," she grinned. "Hey, Dad, Detective Beckett."

"Finally, an adult," Kate said, "If you'll excuse me," she said to Castle and Lanie, "I'm going to solve a murder while you two enjoy your watercooler chat." With that, she headed towards Alexis.

"She's a consummate professional," she overhead Castle telling Lanie in a conversational tone as she walked away. "Never lets me gossip."

"Poor baby," replied Lanie sarcastically. "These dead bodies here just love to hear about the juicy personal lives of New York's Finest."

"I understand now why you developed the patience of a saint," Kate told Alexis as she took the file from her. "It was either that, or go insane."

Alexis frowned in confusion, looking from Kate to her father and Lanie.

Lanie shook her head and went back to her clipboard. Her father gave her an innocent shrug.

"Tox report says our victim has a blood alcohol level of 0.13, and he had MDMA in his system. Ecstasy," she elaborated for Alexis' benefit. Kate looked up, giving the girl a warm smile before turning to Castle. "If you're done, Castle, we have a roommate to interview. He said the vic was studying the night of his murder. This," she waved the file, "says otherwise."

Without waiting for an answer - or giving Lanie the opportunity to make any more comments about this upcoming Saturday - Kate exited the morgue.

With the way Castle kept broadcasting their Saturday date - no, not date, she mentally corrected herself. Their Saturday … plans, she wasn't going to get a moment's peace from her coworkers. Let alone her friends.

As she heard the morgue doors swing open behind her, indicating that Castle was indeed following her, it occurred to Kate that she could make his Saturday as boring as she could possibly conceive of. It would be a just payback for making her work-life this past week such a headache. And all it would take was doing exactly what she'd planned on doing during her first Saturday off, before Castle had blindsided her with a request she couldn't refuse without feeling like an ogre.

The idea made her grin.

"What?" Castle asked, catching up to her. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"Just looking forward to the weekend," she replied. Her grin widened.

"Me too," he replied. His entire mood lifted even higher, which Kate didn't think was possible.

Little did he know.

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><p><em>That Saturday...<em>

Her plan, Kate thought without an iota of regret, had completely backfired. She'd planned on boring him out of his mind in the morning - just retribution - by taking him window-shopping, and then making up for it by treating him to an awesome afternoon.

As a result of her attempt at messing with him, they'd been at it all morning: browsing vintage stores and window-shopping in unconventional antique shops, perusing off-beat galleries and picking their way through holes-in-the-wall brimming with useless knickknacks. She thought he would've begged her to stop ages ago. This was an activity she did alone. If she was lucky, she found the odd piece to add some character to her apartment. More importantly, however, this was something that not only helped her unwind, but also fed her insatiable thirst to explore the unheralded everyday idiosyncrasies of her city, and - an added bonus - appealed to her sense of the absurd. She was surprised and delighted to discover that Castle was much the same as her in those regards. He'd turned out to be ideal company for a lazy Saturday wading through stores that sold what others had discarded. And it helped, too, that she'd laughed more in the last couple of hours than she had all week. It was nice to be able to do this with him without having to worry about interviewing potential witnesses.

So, as Kate stood in a store that sold salvaged and refurbished goods the owners had collected from various dumpster-diving expeditions, she found herself not only relaxed, but having a lot of fun.

"What about this one?" Castle asked, holding up what looked like a fruit bowl carved out of a tree trunk. Maybe. If she squinted.

"What is that supposed to be?"

"I have no idea," he shrugged, examining the object closely. "But the carving on what I presume is the side looks like a demented monkey." He looked up from the bowl. "Right?"

"Kinda reminds me of you, actually," she teased.

He broke into a wide grin. "You and your sweet talk," he replied playfully. "You do know how to make a man blush."

Kate laughed. She showed him the typewriter she was examining. "Look at this," she said. "It would fit perfectly in your bat cave."

"Ooh, old school," he said, coming to stand next to her. "I like it."

"Reminds me of my grandfather's typewriter," Kate said. "I used to love that thing. I'd sit on his lap as a little kid while he worked on it. He'd type out all his letters. Said his handwriting was worse than chicken scratch," she smiled fondly at the memory. "I remember wondering for the longest time how he'd managed to teach his chickens to write, and how long ago he'd eaten them all up because I never saw any in his yard."

"Little Katie," Castle said with a warm laugh, "so literal-minded."

"I was three," she said in her own defence.

"The first time I heard the term 'cat burglar'," Castle told her, "I imagined a thief who snuck around at night, stealing cats from unsuspecting households. Mother and I lived in a an apartment building then, and our neighbour had a cat. I snuck out of bed every night for two weeks to keep guard of the neighbour's front door, armed with a water pistol, to make sure no one stole her cat."

Kate grinned. "How old were you?"

"Six," he confessed. "I let my imagination get away with me quite a lot." He chuckled as the memory returned. "Mother was quite fed up with waking up in the morning only to find my bed empty, and me sleeping in the hallway outside the neighbour's door. She thought I was in some weird phase. I, of course, refused to believe her when she told me a cat burglar was just a regular old thief, who was just extra sneaky. It seemed so … ordinary. Boring."

They got caught up in each other's eyes, grinning at the long-forgotten memories, now shared.

"What happened to your grandfather's typewriter?" he asked.

Kate gave a long, fond look at the typewriter next to them. "I think it's somewhere in Dad's attic or garage now." She ran a finger over the keys. It hit her at strange times, her nostalgia for her grandfather. The simple solidity of him.

"My neighbour's cat ran away and joined the circus," Castle said, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Really?" she looked at him, biting back a grin. No way that was the truth.

"No," he cocked his head to the side, a smile slowly stretching the corners of is eyes, "but it's a better story than just dying of old age."

She was warmed by a sudden swell of affection for the man standing in front of her.

"Come on," she said, indicating the exit to the store. "Time for a lunch break. My treat. I know a place just around the corner that makes the most incredible calzones."

"Awesome!" he followed her to the door, and held it open for her. "Lead the way."

"I thought we could hit an exhibit after lunch." She walked out onto the street as he held the door for her. They fell into step side by side under a gorgeous New York sky.

"What did you have in mind?"

"The Museum of Cartoon and Comic Art is hosting an exhibit on Batman." She threw him a sideways glance, looking forward to his reaction.

He lit up beside her. "Shut the front door!" he squealed. "Really? How did I not know about that?"

"Interested?" she quirked an eyebrow in teasing.

"Interested?" he echoed in disbelief. "Beckett. Is - I … are - it's-"

"Alright, there, Birthday Boy," she laughed. It was something that he couldn't even come up with a witticism in response. "Take a breath before you hurt yourself."

"This is going to be awesome!" he squealed again. He looked about to explode with excitement. She grinned at his happiness, and she didn't even mind when he piled her with load upon load of Batman trivia all the way to the restaurant. She actually enjoyed it, even though she already knew most of the factoids he was throwing her way.

* * *

><p><em>A couple of hours later...<em>

"I didn't know Batman was actually a craze in Japan." He pointed to a display case. "Look at that. Joker in manga. Who would've thought."

"Hm," she agreed, immersed in reading about the evolution of Talia al Ghul. He watched her absorb the Batman lore, brow furrowed in concentration, and couldn't help but grin. When was the last time he'd had this much fun in the company of a woman? He honestly could not remember. And who knew Kate Beckett was on a first-name basis with a dumpster-diving couple? She'd told him that Burt and Cathy were the ones who'd refurbed the chandelier-like contraption that hung above her dining table. They'd found it in a dumpster in Jersey. It still made him giddy to think of it.

"Look at this!" she said excitedly, pointing to a life-sized batsuit prototype. "This was actually worn by Keaton in the '89 movie."

"I have a Batsuit in my closet," he said as he came to stand next to her. "It looks just like this one."

"Halloween costume?"

"Yep. When Alexis was six, I was Batman and she was the most adorable Robin. Since then, though, I've discovered that it's actually very suitable for making waffles in."

She laughed, eyes dancing with amusement. She'd been doing a lot of that today.

"You'd make a great Catwoman," he felt compelled to say. Partly because it was the truth, and partly because he was curious about how she'd react to such a statement.

"Wrong side of the law," she replied with a shrug. "But I did dress up as her for Halloween one year, in college."

He was hit with an immediate onslaught of images of her wearing tight, black leather pants, a fitted bodice and those tiny pointed ears.

"Those poor college boys probably didn't know what to do with themselves," he joked. Heck, he wasn't sure he would know what to do with himself.

She threw him a coy look. "They learned pretty quick; I'm a great teacher."

His jaw went slack; he stared at her. A whip was added to his mental image of Beckett as Catwoman. And stilettos-

"Still so easy, Castle." Her peel of laughter rudely brought him back to the here-and-now.

He shook himself out of his fantasies and decided it might be best to focus on the reality of her for the next little while. He'd let her have this one, even though she looked altogether too pleased with herself. It was an easy lob, anyways. Not his fault she was one of the most gorgeous women he'd ever laid eyes on.

He stopped in front of display on Commissioner Gordon. His mind wandered as he read the info panels in front of him. It constructed a story, drew parallels without him really giving it much conscious thought; the perils - and pleasures - of a writer's mind. "I think Roy was your very own James Gordon," he commented as the idea occurred to him. "A loyal stalwart who stood by your side, despite pressures from all fronts. I personally like Frank Miller's take, where Gordon knows the man behind the mask. Half friend, half ally. Although Roy was also a mentor to you, too. Maybe a mix of Gordon and Alfred..." he trailed off when he realized that Beckett had gone still next to him.

He chanced a glance at her, and found her staring off into the distance, her eyes holding a deep sadness and her body tense. He wondered, not for the first time, how she was handling Montgomery's passing. They'd never had the chance to talk about it before she was shot, and by the time she came back from her summer of retreat, he had been too wary of upsetting the precarious balance she seemed to have struck with her reeling heart. How do you mourn a man whom you respected, cared for, looked up to, but who also purposefully kept the truth you hungered for hidden from you?

"Hey," he nudged her gently. She snapped out of her thoughts to focus on him. He didn't like what he was seeing in her. Perhaps she didn't know how to mourn such a loss either. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She nodded a bit too quickly, too dismissively. "Fine." Then, after a beat of silence, she said: "The next room has a display on Batman's role in the seismic shift in pop culture brought on by the Cold War. Let's go there." Kate started to move away, but Castle caught her lightly by the wrist. He could feel her pulse pounding against his fingers.

He took a step closer to her, even though he knew her default was always needing more space, never less. It was the emotion in her eyes, though, that kept him from following their usual M.O. and pulling back.

"Kate..."

She clenched and unclenched her fist, the muscle and tendons working as he held her in his grasp. Her eyes held a distinct warning. How much hurt, how much anger could one woman carry around, he thought. And for how long could she use it as a shield before she forgot what it was like to have her guard down. Hadn't he been telling his mother that he wanted to see the woman behind the mask?

"...you don't have to hide," he said. For the space of one heartbeat, he saw something flash in her eyes. A raw and unbridled … hope? And then she wrenched her gaze away from his. He dropped her wrist, taken aback by the unexpected vulnerability he'd caught in her, not even sure what he'd seen. She took a step back, away from him, and swallowed heavily. He could see her pulse flutter in her throat.

He stared at her, and she looked anywhere but at him. Enough, he thought, forcing himself to look away. It was enough for now.

"Next room, you said?" He gave her the out she looked like she so desperately needed. She didn't move, so he turned towards the room hoping she'd follow when she was ready.

"Castle." She stopped him with one choked utterance of his name. He turned to look at her. She took a deep breath, head bowed, arms crossed over her chest. "If anything, you're my James Gordon," she said quietly. And then she raised her eyes to meet his, head-on. He almost took a step back at the intensity that met him. "Stalwart ally. Trusted friend."

He flashed to the image of the murderboard in his study.

Always, he wanted to say. But he wasn't sure anymore what that promise meant.

"Come on," she said; her turn to snap him from his wandering thoughts. "We haven't even covered half the exhibit on our dark hero, and the museum closes in an hour."

He followed her to the neighbouring room, both of them a bit unsteady on their feet after the unexpectedly burdened exchange they'd just had. He felt exposed, so he could only imagine how off-kilter she must be. They milled about the display cases for a few minutes, sharing a companionable though weighty silence.

"I've always been more drawn to Batman than Superman." She broke the silence as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, reading about the comparative positions the two heroes she'd mentioned held in American pop culture.

He turned to give her his full attention, recognizing an olive branch when he saw one.

"It's more realistic to accept our heroes as flawed. It doesn't - shouldn't, it shouldn't diminish them."

A swift, shimmering hope spread in his chest. "It doesn't," he agreed.

"That's how I choose to remember him," she said quietly, eyes fixed on the panel in front of her.

Beckett's loyalty had been one of the strongest foundations for Nikki Heat, when he'd first sketched the character. Loyalty to the victims, to her team, to her integrity. Loyalty to her captain; the man who'd taken an unpolished, angry cop and trained her to be the best detective in the city. He would be lying if he said he held Montgomery's secret against the man. It had, after all, kept Beckett alive.

"I think we've covered enough ground here," he said, indicating the exhibit with a lift of chin. "How about I buy you a cup of coffee?" he asked.

"Sounds perfect." She flashed him a grin, sweetened with gratitude. "I could use a cup."

And all it took was her unfettered smile to steel his faith, and to cast away - for the moment at least - the burden of his own secret.

"I spotted a branch of your favourite coffee shop just across the street."

"Lead the way," she replied.

"One question," he said as they walked out of the museum. "Do you still have your Catwoman outfit?"

"Oh, Castle," she said in a teasingly sympathetic tone, "I'd tell you, but you already used up all your birthday wishes for the year."

After a beat of silence, he informed her: "I know what I want for my birthday next year."

Her only response was a deliciously enigmatic smile.


	3. The Second

**Four Saturdays (3/5)  
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**The Second**

The following Tuesday, Kate found herself leaning against an autopsy table, watching as Lanie lifted prints from their latest vic.

"Where's you shadow?" Lanie asked.

"I sent him off with Castle Jr," she said, referring to Ryan. "As if one Castle spinning crazy theories wasn't enough."

"So," Lanie cast her a knowing glance, "what did you need to talk about?"

"Why would you think I needed to talk about anything?"

"Because you didn't bring Castle with you."

Kate sighed, and lifted herself up to sit on the autopsy table behind her.

Her eyes followed Lanie as she carefully pulled a print from the body.

"I had a great time on Saturday," she finally said.

Lanie looked up at her, brows furrowed. "Why do you sound so guilty saying it, girl? That's a good thing," she said in her patented tone of incredulity.

"I thought he'd get bored." A massive burden was lifted as she confessed the truth.

"He's been following you around for how long?" Lanie's tone was filled with disbelief. "How could you possibly think he'd get bored?"

"For starters: there was no murder to investigate. And, well," Kate winced in anticipation of Lanie's reaction. "I was kind of annoyed with him for telling everything with a pulse that we were spending the day together-"

"And heaven forbid anyone actually be excited about spending a day off with you," Lanie rolled her eyes.

"As I was saying," Kate said, more than eager to avoid Lanie's sarcasm, "I was a bit ticked so I decided to follow through with what I'd actually planned for last Saturday morning, before Castle blindsided me with his birthday request."

Lanie cocked an eyebrow in question.

"Browsed vintage stores..." she hesitated at the look on Lanie's face before forging ahead, "...maybe went to a few secondhand shops."

"Oh good lord, Kate Beckett," Lanie rolled her eyes. "You sure do know how to make them work for it."

"I had a great afternoon planned when I suggested it," Kate defended. "To make up for the morning. Besides, Castle did say to do what I normally would."

"And we all know Castle is the voice of reason."

"The point is," Kate continued, "I had a great time. A really great time," she let her mind wander back to last Saturday and found herself sighing. Like such a girl. "I didn't think it would go so … well."

She looked up to find Lanie wearing a wide, smug grin.

"From what I hear," Lanie said, "Saturday Number One went really well for writer-boy, too."

"From what you hear?" Kate repeated.

"You forget, I have Little Castle working for me," Lanie reminded her. "Not only is she an incredibly dedicated and capable intern, she is a motormouth when it comes to her personal life. I can't tell you how refreshing it is to talk to someone who talks back."

"All three Castles," she said to Lanie with a smile, amused and endeared as-always with the Castle family, "such big gossips."

Lanie laughed. "Big gossips, with big hearts."

"The biggest," she agreed with a sigh. "Big, wide open hearts."

"So what has you sounding so conflicted?" her friend asked.

"I was supposed to be working this Saturday and have the next one off," Kate began, "but Karpowski asked me to trade because of her nephew's birthday. And this Saturday is …" Kate trailed off.

"What?" Lanie was smiling expectantly, no doubt at Kate's uncharacteristic hesitance.

"My mom's birthday."

Lanie's smile fell away. "Oh."

"Yeah," Kate nodded. "It's not a big deal," she said, even though it was one to her. "I usually just go pay her a visit in the morning, if I'm working the day, and leave her fresh flowers."

"You can still do that," Lanie said gently, she came to stand in front of Kate.

"I know. It's just, his rule is that I have to spend the entire Saturday with him."

"I'm sure he'll understand."

"Four years ago," she said, "If I'd had the day off on Mom's birthday, I would have visited her in the morning, spent the day going over old pictures, and dragged Dad out for dinner."

"And now?"

"I wouldn't mind spending the day with ... him."

Lanie's eyes held nothing but tenderness. "That's good, honey. It's progress."

Kate nodded. Her therapist said the same. And yet...

"I can't help but feel I'm letting her down. By moving on," she tried to explain. By opening her heart to someone else. By letting Castle take up the space that had only ever been committed to one other person for over a decade. All these things she couldn't quite say out loud just yet.

"You know, Lanie," Kate began ruefully, "sometimes, I wish I'd never met him." At Lanie's raised eyebrows, she shrugged. "And other times, I don't know how I got by without him."

Lanie pulled herself up on the examination table next to Kate. She slipped her arm through Beckett's.

"I know the feeling, sweetie."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"What are you going to do?" Lanie asked.

"I don't know." Kate shrugged. "But I have the rest of the week to figure it out.'

* * *

><p>Friday morning, Castle was preparing a fresh round of drinks at the espresso machine when Kate entered the break room.<p>

"Hey," he greeted her with a smile. She was wearing his favourite jeans today, and that just put him in an overall good mood. Not to mention he'd be spending the entire day with her tomorrow. "One steaming hot cup of coffee coming right your way."

"About this Saturday," she began. And then stopped.

"Yeah?" he asked, his attention focused on making her coffee. "What about it? I can be at your place at 9AM, like last time." Ungodly hour though it was, he didn't want to give her any excuse to cheat him of his Saturdays with her.

"Right. About that." She stuttered, which made him turn to centre his entire attention on her. She sounded … nervous. "Can I maybe meet with you in the afternoon?"

Castle stilled. That was unexpected. He thought they'd had a great time the last Saturday they'd spent together. They'd even made progress, what with the conversation they'd had in the Batman exhibit.

"Saturdays mean entire days, Beckett," he went for teasing to mask his confusion. "Don't try and weasel your way out of our deal. We shook on it," he reminded her with a playful frown.

She was studying him, he realized. He got the distinct impression she was evaluating his fitness for some task.

"What?" he asked, worried.

"The thing is, I was going to visit my mom on Saturday morning."

"Oh." And now he felt like an ass. "I'm sorry," he said, and it sounded lame and pitiful to his own ears.

"No, no, don't apologize," she was quick to cut him off. She took a breath, her lip tugged between her teeth. "I think maybe … maybe you could come along?"

"I could?" He squeaked, and then mentally kicked himself for being so uncool about this. But for real, she was asking him to come along?

"Yeah," she nodded decisively. "You should."

He stared at her, even as he told himself not to stare at her.

"If you come by my place at nine," she said, "we can go to the cemetery and then maybe get breakfast?"

"Of course," he nodded quickly. "Definitely. I'll be there. Of course." He forced himself to shut up.

With another decisive nod - she was trying to convince herself of something, maybe that this was a good idea? - she exited the breakroom.

He stared after her for a moment, so thrown by what had just happened that he barely even paid any attention to how beautifully his favourite jeans hugged her from behind.

And then, as he went back to making her coffee, a slow smile unfurled. It began in his eyes and ended in his heart. That smile, and the bounce in his step, kept him company well into the next morning when he showed up at her door with two bouquets in hand - one for Johanna Beckett, and one for her daughter.

"These are for your mom," he said, showing her a large arrangement of white daisies and bright yellow lilies.

She just about melted at the sight of them.

"And these," he pulled the second bouquet from behind his back, "are for you." He grinned. It was the most colourful arrangement the florist could put together. All pinks and oranges and yellows and purples.

"You got me flowers?" Her brow crinkled in confusion as she took his offering. But he could see the pleasure in her eyes, the slight smile curling the corners of her mouth.

"I was at the flower shop, getting your mom flowers, and..." He shrugged, as though it was no big deal. Really, he just wanted to give her something to say how much it meant to him that she'd invited him along. And he liked getting her flowers. The idea of something he'd given her brightening up her apartment...

"Thanks, Rick." She smiled, and it felt like buying her flowers was the best thing he'd ever done.

"When you're ready," he tried to play it cool, because a fist-pump would not be appropriate at the moment, "I have a cab waiting."

A half hour later, he stood next to Beckett as she knelt to place the bouquet of lilies and daisies by her mother's tombstone. It was a gorgeous day out, warm and sunny without a cloud in sight. Much like the last time he'd been in a cemetery with her-

Castle abruptly shook off the thought, focused instead on Kate who was now standing next to him. Healthy and whole.

He was just about regaining his equanimity when he heard her whisper, "happy birthday, mom."

Maybe, he thought as his heart cracked, this wasn't such a good idea. He wanted to be strong, he did. He reminded himself of how happy and unburdened she'd been last Saturday, and clung to the memory. He wanted her to be happy; deeply and simply happy.

"She would've turned 60 today," Kate murmured quietly. "I can't imagine her being that … old." He wasn't sure if she was addressing him or not. And then, to his surprise, she said: "my mom loved cake."

He turned to look at Kate, and found her eyes sparkling with amusement. It was infectious; he couldn't help but smile.

"She had a sweet tooth unlike anybody I've ever known. Dad would get her an extravagant cake every year for her birthday, until I turned 15 and decided that I would make her the most out-of-this-world cake she had ever set eyes on." She grinned. "It was an unmitigated disaster."

Castle's own smile widened. It was hard picturing Kate being an unmitigated disaster at anything.

"The cake caved in," she went on, "I didn't grease the cake tin properly so the sides practically fell away when I took out the cake. The frosting was too hard to spread evenly or smoothly."

"It was terrible," she continued, "I was so upset. My dad kept telling me that it was just perfect. Poor guy. I think he was trying to make me feel better. We presented the cake to mom with great fanfare when she came home from work that evening. Castle, you should have seen her face," her smile was bright, eyes softened by the memory. "It was probably the worst thing to ever come out of an oven, but she was just so happy. Of course," here she shot him a rueful, laughing grin, "that didn't stop her from teasing me about how terrible it looked. Every birthday after that, she'd remind me of that awful cake I'd baked for her."

As often happened when he least expected, it punched him right in the solar plexus just how he loved her: with a staggering ferocity; with a humbling strength.

"So of course I had to prove myself. The perils of being a perfectionist. I can now bake with the best of them." The smile in her voice faded. A slight shadow fell over her as she looked at her mother's resting place. "I was going to bake her a chocolate fudge cake with strawberries for her 47th birthday," Kate said. "I had it all planned out," she sighed. "Wasn't meant to be."

He watched her slowly curl into her hidden nook of grief.

"You know," he told her in a low, secretive voice, as though letting her in on a big secret, "I'm still not sure how old my mother really is."

A surprised laugh escaped her lips, unbidden, at the unexpected comment. It was the reaction he'd been aiming for.

"It's a beautiful memory, Kate," he said sincerely. He turned his head to look at her, getting caught up in the tender green of her eyes. "I'm glad to share it with you."

She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and nudged his arm with her shoulder. "Thanks, Castle."

Thank you, he wanted to say, but she was leaning against him like it was the most natural thing in the world and the words got stuck in his throat.

* * *

><p>Castle ushered Kate into his loft, shutting the door behind them with a bump of his hip. His hands were occupied with carrying a gigantic cake box. After hearing Kate's story about her mother's implacable sweet tooth, he'd insisted on taking her to the best bakery in town and buying the most elaborate cake they had on display.<p>

He hadn't been able to help himself.

"There's no way we're going to be able to finish that," Kate told him, eyeing the box in his hands.

"Challenge accepted," he replied with a wide grin.

"Hi, Detective Beckett," Alexis greeted merrily, jumping up from the couch in the living room to take Kate's coat.

"Hi, Alexis," Kate smiled widely at his daughter. "You have a rare day off today, too, huh?"

She nodded in reply. "I am officially a hermit for the weekend." Her glance flicked to the cake box in Castle's hands. "What's that?"

"Today," said Rick, "is Kate's mom's birthday. And we celebrate," he lifted the lid of the box in a theatrical display, "with cake."

"Wow, that looks amazing," said Alexis as she peered into the box. She turned to Beckett with a sudden excitement, "I have candles! We can sing her happy birthday!"

Before Kate could reply, Alexis was already off to rummage for candles. Castle watched Beckett. She looked … maybe a bit overwhelmed. And sad. And … uncomfortable?

"Is this too much?" he asked quietly. He had to remind himself at times not to get ahead of himself.

"What?" she turned to look at him, snapping out of whatever thoughts were occupying her mind. "No. No, it's not." She hesitated. "This is … good."

He decided to take her word for it. "Come on." He led her towards the kitchen, where he set the box on the counter. "Cake time."

A half hour later, the two Castles and one Beckett sat on the couch in the living room, stomachs pleasantly sated with cake.

"That was incredible," said Castle.

Beckett nodded in agreement. "It was."

"Do you remember that cake you got for my eighth birthday?" Alexis asked Castle.

"Do I remember?" he exclaimed. "How could I forget! It was epic."

"I had a serious thing for wizards at the time," Alexis explained to Kate. "So for my eighth birthday, Dad got me a cake as tall as me, shaped like a wizard. With a hat and everything! I was the envy of the school for years afterwards."

"We spent all weekend sending slices of cakes to the neighbours in this building and, eventually, the building next door." Castle grinned. "The folks in the building next door still stop me on the street to remind me of it."

"I think that's my favourite birthday memory," Alexis said. Castle threw an arm over her shoulder and pulled her close.

"The look on your face when they wheeled the cake in was priceless." He smiled warmly at his daughter. "My favourite memory would have to be from when I turned six. Mother was acting in a Rocky Horror Show production here in New York. She had the entire cast, in full costume, sing me the most terrifying rendition of happy birthday ever conceived. It. Was. Awesome." He grinned at Kate.

Alexis leaned over him to look at Kate. "What's yours?" she asked.

"Hm," Kate gave it some thought. "It would have to be my sixteenth. My parents surprised me with a trip to Venice for just me and my mom. We had a week to ourselves, exploring a gorgeous city, rich with history. It was the first time we traveled together, just the two of us."

"Sounds amazing," said Alexis. "I've never been."

"It's a place you have to see, at least once." Kate smiled, but there was that leaden melancholy to her tone which Castle had caught on and off in her during the morning.

"I visited Venice once," he said. "I may have tried to commandeer a gondola after consuming a bit too much grappa."

Alexis and Kate rolled their eyes almost in tandem, much to his amusement.

"Is there a country in which you don't have a rap sheet?" Kate asked.

"I can't answer that," he replied. "There are impressionable ears in the room."

That earned him another eye-roll from Alexis.

"My dad," said Alexis, "The overgrown child. At least it makes shopping for you easy," she said to him, before looking over at Kate. "One year, I got him laser tag equipment for his birthday. He was bouncing off the walls for weeks afterwards."

"Who wouldn't be!" Castle exclaimed with an exuberant grin. "I rule at laser tag," he informed Kate

"Really? The 12th has an annual paintball tournament during the summer," Kate said. "I'd invite you, but I don't know if you could handle yourself. After all, we are trained professionals. You just horse around in your living room."

The teasing in her tone was clear from a mile away. But that didn't stop him from defending his honour.

"I could totally handle myself," he said, sitting up straight on the couch. "I'll prove it: I could take you right now, in a game of laser tag."

"Oh, please," she dismissed him with an imperious wave of her hand.

"What, scared of losing to a civilian?" he goaded, the competitive fires now licking his veins. He was pumped.

"I don't lose," she replied.

He didn't doubt it. He couldn't help but remember her offer for them to go race laps, of all things. And her recent territoriality when other women showed an interest in him. The thought made him grin.

"Challenge accepted," he cocked an eyebrow. "Daughter," he declared, "let's bring out the gear and show the n00b here how it's done."

"Prepare to hurt," Kate replied, her eyes glinting appealingly.

"I'll get the vests," Alexis, already heading towards the study in a flurry of excitement and laughter. "I'll be right back, Detective Beckett."

"Call me Kate, Alexis," she called out after the girl's retreating figure. She bent down to remove her heels in preparation for battle. "If I'm going to kick your sorry butts at laser tag, we should at least be on a first-name basis."

"And you can call me Lord of Voltar," Castle informed Kate. "Ruler of the Omniverse."

"I am not calling you Ruler of the Omniverse," she rolled her eyes.

"Ruler of the Universe?"

"Nope."

"Galaxy."

"Not in a million years."

"Spoilsport," he pouted.

"At most you're at the helm of a declining empire."

"Oh, it's on," Castle challenged. "The forces of Voltar will conquer your resistance."

"The only thing that'll be conquered today is your peddling fiefdom."

"Wait," he said, appalled, "You're downgrading me from empire to fiefdom?"

"I'm with Kate on this," Alexis piped up. She re-entered the room, arms laden with laser tag gear. "Voltar is in undeniable decline."

"Hey," Castle interjected. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"What is that I hear?" Kate cocked an eyebrow at Castle before throwing Alexis a conspiratorial grin. "Could it be … fear?"

"Ha, you wish," Castle replied. "I can take both of you."

"Alright, children," Alexis cut in, "save it for the battlefield of honour." She handed Kate a vest. "Welcome to the rebel alliance," she said with mock solemnity.

"It's a privilege, Rebel Leader," Kate matched Alexis' tone. Alexis broke into a wide grin at Kate's response.

Castle couldn't keep his own punch-drunk happy smile off his face at seeing Kate play along with him and his daughter. But he still had his eye on the prize.

"If you two are done with your menial rituals," he said, adjusting his goggles and strapping on his vest, "I have an omniverse conquer."

* * *

><p>An hour and a half later, Castle stood hidden behind a pillar, having the time of his life. During their game, Kate had laughed harder than he'd ever seen, she and Alexis planning out intricate tactics and giving each other high-fives with the muzzles of their laser tag guns whenever one of their schemes worked. Kate had also - to his eternal surprise and delight - completely immersed herself in the world he and Alexis had created through years of playing laser tag together. Although she still refused to call him Lord of Voltar, let alone Ruler of the Omniverse.<p>

And now the score was tied three-all. This last battle would determine the fate of the omniverse. The stakes had never been higher.

"You are no match for the rebel force!" Alexis called out from behind a pillar.

"Prepare to be vanquished, rebel scum!" he called back from behind his own cover.

"Never!" she cried. "Our forces are closing in!"

"What forces? Ha. Don't make me laugh," he vaulted from his pillar to the shelter offered by the couch. "You are no match for the superior forces of Voltar." Alexis remained behind the pillar, while Kate … Kate had been too quite for too long, he realized. Which only meant-

At that exact moment, Kate leaped out from the other side of the couch, rolling once on the floor before bracing herself on her knees, her gun aimed at him. She pulled the trigger before he could react, and his vest vibrated with a well-placed shot. He looked down at the blinking lights in dismay.

"Gotcha," she grinned at him from her semi-prone position on the hardwood.

"That's four for us and three for you," Alexis goaded him, coming over to give Kate a hand up.

He should have known that teaming up two insanely intelligent and driven individuals would not work in his favour. Kate and his daughter, he noted, shared a single-minded drive. And both applied it to destroying his chances of establishing dominion over the omniverse. Two peas in a pod, he thought ruefully as he watched them trade high fives.

"Perhaps I could entice one of you to join the forces of Voltar?" He asked, looking from one to other with hope.

"Not a chance, Castle," Kate said.

"Sure," Alexis replied at the same time.

They both looked at her in surprise.

"What?" she shrugged, turning to Kate with an expression of pure innocence. "Do I sense … fear?"

Kate laughed. "Turncoat," she teased, "you're going to regret going to the losing side." She turned to Castle. "Alright, it's Castles versus Beckett. Loser makes dinner."

Castle put an arm around Alexis' shoulder, pulling her to his side. "Then get ready to wear my 'kiss the cook' apron, Beckett."

* * *

><p><em>Twenty minutes later...<em>

"We've lost our family honour, Dad." Alexis informed him as she sliced carrots for a salad.

"Tell me about it," Castle agreed. He checked on the pasta. "She's freakishly skilled with a gun."

"You screamed like a girl," his daughter said, giving him a disappointed look.

"I didn't even see where she came from!" he defended. "She just popped out of nowhere." He placed a hand over his chest. "My heart is still pounding."

"Hey!" Kate called from living room, "less talking; more cooking. I'm starving here."

Castle shared a chagrined look with his daughter.

"Alexis," he said solemnly, "we are going to have to demand a rematch. We can't allow anyone to besmirch the Castle name. Well," he amended, "anyone except me and your grandmother."

"We should practice first," she said, glancing towards the couch Kate was comfortably nestled in. "Get some training in."

He nodded sagely as he followed her gaze. "Lots of training."


	4. The Penultimate

**A/N:** Leigh, because you asked in such a kind review, I added the activity you requested to this chapter. I think it fit quite well. What say you?

Thank you for such an awesome response, folks. Fluff-monsters, you lot are: we're kindred spirits!

This chapter is pretty long, but that's a good thing. It should tide you over until I get the last chapter out. I only have it sketched out so far (except for the ending, that's all written out!), and the week ahead looks pretty busy. I promise to try my best not to keep you waiting.

If you have any activity you'd like to see our dynamic duo engage in, this is your last chance to make a suggestion. It might find its way into the last chapter...

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><p><strong>The Penultimate<strong>

Her third Saturday off didn't materialize for another three weeks. As it neared, however, Kate found herself looking forward to it. And now that it was here, she was nothing short of … perhaps happy was the right word.

"Alexis wanted me to tell you that she's very jealous," Castle informed her. He was leaning against her kitchen counter, his eyes fixed on her as she moved about the kitchen.

She arched an eyebrow at him in question.

"I get a Kate Beckett special for breakfast." He grabbed a potato right out of the skillet, and popped it into his mouth. "Mm. Delicious." He grinned.

Kate bit back a smile at his antics. "You should have brought her along," she said as she slid the last of the French toast onto a platter and dumped the pan into the sink.

"And share all this with her?" He gave her look meant to inform her of just how crazy a suggestion that was. "No way. Alexis may look tiny, but she has the appetite of a teenage boy. Kind of reminds me of you, actually."

She chose not to dignify that particular comment with a response. She poured them both coffee instead.

"Actually," he continued, picking up the French toast and carrying it over to her dining table, "Her law firm internship starts in an hour, and then she's on the night shift at the morgue with our favourite M.E."

"Next time, then," Kate replied. She handed Castle the potatoes and took hold of their cups of coffee. They walked over to the dining table, goods in hand. "And I can make more. My mom always said you should never be stingy with breakfast."

"Mothers are never wrong," he said by way of agreement, and then added as a rueful afterthought: "or so I hear. My mother, of course, makes sure she is the exception to every rule."

She hid her smile, remembering Martha's one-woman play.

"This looks great," he commented as they surveyed the table. Scrambled eggs, bacon, skillet potatoes and French toast.

"Well, Mr. Castle." She gave him a wide grin from across the dining table. There was little as satisfying as cooking a massive brunch. "Breakfast is served."

* * *

><p>"So what's the plan for today?" Castle asked as he helped himself to another slice of French toast. He offered her a slice as well, but Kate shook her head. He hadn't been kidding about there not being enough for three. She was very impressed with his ability to tuck away bacon and eggs.<p>

"I didn't really have anything planned," she lifted one shoulder in a light shrug.

"No longer feel the need to impress me?" he teased.

"Actually I've learned that you're really easy to impress," she bantered back, indicating his plateful of breakfast. He was scooping his third helping of potatoes onto his plate.

"These are seriously the most amazing potatoes I've ever had," he replied with nothing but sincerity. "And the French toast!"

He grinned at her from across the table, morning sunlight falling in warm streaks of gold in his hair. She found herself lulled by the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with him. Quite a departure, she couldn't help but note, from her uncertainty preceding their first Saturday spent together. It had been a while since she'd felt completely on her guard with Castle, but this was a whole new level of … comfort.

"Let me ask you this," he said, "what would you do if I weren't here?"

"If you weren't here," she replied with quick wit to make up for her thoughts wandering down dangerous avenues, "I would be taking a long, hot soak in my tub and catching up on some reading."

He broke into a Cheshire cat grin: "Please, don't let me stop you."

"That is tempting," she raised a contemplative eyebrow, and waited a beat. From the look of anticipation on his face, knew that this was going to be like leading lambs to the slaughter. "But unfortunately, I do need to go grocery shopping, so I guess the bath will have to wait."

"You build me up, buttercup," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "Just to let me down."

She grinned.

"And, really, you?" he said in a way that was both dismissive and incredulous at once. "Grocery shopping? For what, styrofoam flags for your temple?"

She ignored his comment. "How about a movie?" she asked instead.

"Oh, no," he shook his head emphatically. "There is no way I am passing up on the chance to see you grocery shop."

"It's not that exciting, Castle. I just need milk and eggs."

He rested his chin in his palm and got all dreamy-eyed. "It's really hot when you talk domestic," he teased.

She threw her napkin at his face.

* * *

><p><em>An hour later...<em>

"Put that back," she said, without turning around. She was picking out a box of granola bars from the dozens that lined the shelves in front of her. Castle was standing behind her, putting yet another unwanted item in her grocery cart. He'd been doing it since they'd arrived.

"But you need it," he replied.

"I do not need whipped cream in a can, Castle." Or Fruit Roll-ups. Or rice noodles. Or Macaroni. Or a 10lb turkey. Or - for goodness' sakes - rainbow sprinkles. She'd kept the cheese he'd added; well, actually she'd put back the cheddar he'd selected and replaced it with manchego. More on principle than anything else: she'd already accepted his contribution of gala apples, and he'd looked like the cat that ate the cream because of it.

"Okay, first of all: how did you even know I put that in your cart?" he complained. "Your back is turned. And second: everyone needs whipped cream in a can. It's a staple, Beckett."

"Potatoes are a staple," she said as she put a box of granola bars into her cart. "Rice is a staple. Whipped cream is frippery."

He lit up, petulance forgotten for the moment. "Nice word," he approved.

She looked down at the contents of her cart, checking off items against her mental grocery list, when she came upon something that most definitely did not belong. She looked up at her shopping companion - companion in the loosest possible sense of the word, given how unhelpful he was being. He was more like her shopping nuisance. "Seriously?" she said to him. "Marshmallows?"

"I also put in a bag of carrots," he defended, pointing to the item in question.

"Put them back." She handed him the marshmallows and whipped cream. He reluctantly took them from her.

"I should have gotten my own cart for all the cool stuff you refuse to get," he groused as he placed the items back on a shelf. "What do you even snack on?" he asked, perusing the contents of her cart with a disapproving air.

"Carrots," she replied, just because it was fun to needle him.

The answering look he leveled at her was very eloquent. She tried her best not to laugh at his dismayed expression, and decided that perhaps distracting him was the quickest way to end this shopping expedition.

"So how about catching a movie after this?" she suggested.

"Sure," he replied with an easy shrug. "What's playing?"

"The Angelika was running The French Connection last weekend. I didn't check this morning's paper, though, for today's screenings."

"I love that movie!" he exclaimed. "I have the collector's edition." He bounced excitedly on his toes. "How about we go back to my place? I can set up the film projector - Beckett it'll be awesome. As good as going to the theatre. No - better!"

She contemplated the offer for only a moment before nodding in agreement.

"This is going to be great!" He immediately tossed the can of whipped cream back into her cart.

"What are you doing?"

"If we're going to watch a movie, we need snacks. Whipped cream is an essential movie snack."

She eyed the can dubiously. "Popcorn and nachos are an essential snack, whipped cream is-"

"I'll get the nachos!" he cut her off, already heading towards the chip aisle. "You get the popcorn!" he threw over his shoulder as he turned the corner.

Kate shook her head as she watched him go. Such a child. She eyed the marshmallows, still sitting on the shelf where he'd deposited them. What the hell, she thought. She picked up the bag and put it back in the cart. She added a bag of peanut M&Ms and Sour Kids into the cart, too, for good measure. After all, a good movie called for good junk food.

* * *

><p>The plan to watch one movie had morphed into in a movie-watching marathon. They'd started with The French Connection (her choice), moved on to The Maltese Falcon (his choice), and were now halfway through The Sting (a joint choice). Castle had not been kidding around when he said his home entertainment center was better than going to the cinema: they had a cornucopia of snackings that would put most concessions stands to shame, he had blu-ray editions of the classics, his movie projector and giant screen displayed crisp resolution, his surround sound system was state of the art, and his couch was sinfully comfortable.<p>

The merits of being a multimillionaire. His movie collection alone had her salivating - and making plans to come back at some point to watch The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Would it be rude to invite herself over, she wondered.

She was mulling over the etiquette of raiding his film collection - and Robert Redford was just escaping his second brush with death - when Kate felt something tap her cheek. She looked down to see a piece of popcorn drop onto her lap. She frowned, casting a suspicious glance at Castle. He was sitting at the opposite end of the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, eyes glued to the screen. Munching on a handful of popcorn. Kate turned her focus back to the movie, and a few seconds later felt another tap on her cheek.

Kate ignored it; or she pretended to, and then counted backwards from three:

Three.

Two.

One-

-she whipped her head around in time to catch Castle aiming a popcorn kernel at her head. His jaw fell open and his eyes widened in surprise. Guilt was slathered all over his no-good face.

She arched an eyebrow, daring him to continue his present course of action.

"Um," he stuttered. "It wasn't me." He slowly put the popcorn kernel he was holding into his mouth and made a big show of chewing and swallowing it.

Kate rolled her eyes, head shaking: she was a trained detective and he was trying to pull a fast one on her. Seriously lame. She settled more comfortably into the couch, pleased with having set him straight and ready to once again get lost in Paul Newman's eyes.

A full five seconds later, an M&M smacked her on the forehead.

"That does it," Kate growled. She leaped at him, grabbing the cushion from behind her and, with no small amount of satisfaction, smashed the cushion into his face.

He yelped, dropping the bowl of popcorn to get some purchase on the pillow, but she straddled him and pressed her knee into his side. He broke into fit of giggles, which Kate found nothing short of hilarious. How did she not know he was ticklish? It took her a few moments to realize he was yelping out the word 'apples'; she'd been too busy laughing to really pay attention. Deciding that her payback had been justly executed, Kate moved back to her previous seat feeling very satisfied.

"Any other stray food going to come my way?" she asked, but she was still laughing so she doubted her implicit threat carried much weight. It was just that he looked so disheveled and surprised and she had completely schooled him.

"I'll behave," he said, still catching his breath. "Scout's honour."

She raised the cushion and readied herself to swing it at him, because she'd already learned the hard way that he was never a Scout.

"I mean," he said, quickly raising his arms in defence, "I promise. Writer's honour."

She scoffed. "I doubt that carries any more weight than a fake Scout's honour." But she lowered the cushion anyway.

"Well," he said with a devilish grin. "Can't blame a guy for trying to get a beautiful woman onto his lap." He wagged his eyebrows at her.

She whacked him in the face with the cushion she was still holding. "Jerk."

His grin didn't fade an inch. His eyes were bright as he looked at her, his bangs falling over his forehead. She couldn't help but return his smile.

"How about a glass of wine?" he paused the movie as he stood. "I have a great red that Mother has not yet managed to finish." He started cleaning up the popcorn he'd dropped everywhere during Kate's beautifully executed attack. She helped him out by stacking the empty pizza boxes and making a neat pile of the various types of candy they'd gorged on.

"Not for me, thanks. Already had two beers," she picked up their empty bottles and took them to the recycling bin in his kitchen.

"From what Lanie says," he replied, following her into the kitchen, "you can drink most grown men under the table."

"I can," she confirmed. She leaned against a cupboard and watched him moved around the kitchen, throwing out the empty pizza boxes and putting the uneaten junk back in the appropriate cupboards. "But it's getting late and I'm meeting my dad for lunch tomorrow."

"I don't believe it." He came to stand in front of her, arms crossed and head cocked to the side. "No way your body mass can handle more alcohol than mine."

"Doesn't matter if you believe it or not," she replied. She could see the challenge brewing in his eyes, and felt it mirrored in hers. "It's the truth."

"I challenge you-"

"No." She cut him off quickly and firmly.

The expression on his face folded into a put-out frown, as it usually did when he thought she was dismissing one of his better ideas. "What do you mean 'no'? Scared you'll lose?" he tried goading her. It had worked really well the last time, and she couldn't deny that even now it starched her spine with defiance.

"As I proved it to you last time: I. Don't. Lose." She poked him in the chest to punctuate each word. He grabbed her finger.

"Your poking hurts," he said. "And you just had one good game of laser tag. Hardly a decisive victory. I was having a bad day."

"You're a sore loser." She jerked her finger out of his grasp and poked him again. His eyes sparked dangerously, and she had to make a conscious effort not to step closer to him and invade his space. "Making excuses for yourself," she said, trying to stay on point and not get lost in his eyes, which were a decidedly different blue than Paul Newman's.

"You're not going anywhere until we resolve this," he declared, moving abruptly out of the kitchen and to his liquor cabinet.

"It's nearing 10 o'clock, Castle," she called out after him, feeling a bit silly for letting herself get reeled in, no matter how temporarily. "I should get home."

"Not allowed," he insisted, he came back to the kitchen, grabbed her by the hand and pulled her back out to the living room.

"Castle-"

"You can't back out." He set a bottle of whiskey on the table before returning to the kitchen.

"Just take my word for it, Castle, it'll save you the hangover tomorrow."

"Lanie was exaggerating." He returned to the living room, a shot glass in either hand.

"She wasn't," Kate rebutted.

"Then prove it." He set down the two shot glasses on the coffee table.

"You're going to regret this in the morning," she warned.

"I can't tell you how many times I've been told that before; hasn't stopped me yet."

Kate made a face. Too much information.

"And this is the good stuff," he waved a bottle of some very top-shelf whiskey. She had not expected any less from Castle, self-styled sommelier.

Kate studied him for a moment, her inner battle between her reason and her competitive nature was raging on at full tilt. "Fine," she finally said, mostly because of that smug, challenging look he was directing at her. She couldn't just let him have the last word.

"So how do you want to play this?" she settled herself down on the couch. "Just down shots until you pass out?"

He scoffed. "Put your liver where your mouth is, Beckett." He paused, considering her for a moment, before adding: "how about we make this interesting?"

"What, you want to lay a bet?"

"How about a game of truth?"

"I am not playing a drinking game with you!" she protested.

"Scared?"

"Hardly," she said disdainfully. "I just don't see the purpose of a drinking game if the point is to show you that I can out-drink you."

"Oh, so you are scared," he goaded.

"Anything you dish out, I can take," she said with a glare. "Rules?"

"I ask a question. Either you answer the question honestly, or take a shot. Then it's your turn to ask."

Well, she really could hold her liquor so there was no way he was going to get much of anything out of her. His sneaky plan to either pull information from her or get her drunk was going to backfire. He would be spilling his guts _and_ be three sheets to the wind before the night was out.

"Done," she took the bottle from his hand and filled both their glasses. She set her own glass in front of her. "Since you're so keen on going first these days, you start."

He considered her for a moment. "What's your number?"

"Oh come on, really?"

A raised eyebrow was his only response.

She took her shot - no way was she giving him an answer he really didn't want to know-, and was pleasantly surprised. That was some good whiskey.

And then she was faced with an immediate dilemma. She wanted Castle to drink, but he was sometimes candid to the point of transparency. And he might just answer the questions to annoy her. So which kinds of questions would he want to avoid? It was her turn to study him.

"How many characters have you based on women you've slept with?"

He downed his shot with a surprising swiftness.

She refilled their glasses, feeling very satisfied.

"How many boys did you sneak into your room as a teenager?" he asked, that smug gleam was back in his eyes. She glared at him as she took another shot.

"Most embarrassing sexual experience?" she asked. He paused, and for a second she thought he might actually answer the question, but then he took his shot. Much to her relief.

"I want to hear a story from your rebellious teenage phase" he said as she refilled their glasses. She drank. She was not going to provide that kind of ammo to Castle.

It was her turn: "Ever walk in on your mom in the act?"

He drank his shot. "Geez, you do know how to ask'em." he said. She couldn't tell if she was hearing praise in his voice or not. "I need to drink to erase the memories." He refilled their glasses this time, and slid hers to her.

"What is your username on my fansite?" he asked.

She downed a shot.

"What'll you do when Alexis comes home with an engagement ring on her fourth finger?"

It was his turn to glare at her and take a shot. She couldn't help her laughter.

"What's your favourite colour?" He filled her glass for her.

"Purple," she said, and then downed her drink.

"Wait," he said. "You answered the question. You didn't have to drink."

"The game is poorly incentivized, Castle: I win if I drink more than you. Ergo, to win, I should drink regardless of whether I answer the question or not."

He stared at her. "There were some great words in there."

She shot him a sly grin. "You like that, don't you?"

He raised his glass to her before taking the shot. "I do," he said with a wink.

Some time later - Kate wasn't sure how much time -, Kate had lost count of how much they'd had. They'd actually stopped taking shots in tandem with the questions quite a while back, because the bottle now stood empty. She didn't remember that happening either The questions, though, kept flowing. They ranged from insignificant to quite personal, and their answers provided information that ran the gamut from absurd to quite revealing.

She now knew the full story behind his naked escapades on a stolen - sorry, borrowed - horse; had learned of his most embarrassing public reading incident (she was still cringing); and knew the names of all his high school girlfriends and why they'd broken up (she particularly liked the one who'd egged his locker and ripped up his notebooks after a particularly acrimonious break-up. Apparently he'd had a thing for crazy ones from a very early age).

For his part, Castle now knew where her tattoo was, though he didn't know what it was of; knew all about her first boyfriend and the ensuing angst which, in hindsight, seemed more melodramatic than life-altering; and had gotten the full breakdown on her most awkward arrest experience since joining the NYPD (it involved a stint in Vice, and a raid on one of the seedier establishments in Dungeon Alley in which her former high school English teacher happened to be a client).

She also knew that he was well beyond mildly drunk. She could tell by the way his eyes drooped and his voice slurred just a bit around the edges.

Perhaps, Kate thought, it was time to call it a night.

"So, game over, Castle?" she asked.

"Ha," he said. "Never over." Sometime during the game they'd moved to the floor, and were now facing each other, sides leaning into the couch, knees touching. She didn't think it was worth the effort to move. This was comfortable.

"You look about ready to pass out," she observed.

"Ask me another one," he replied, before focusing all his attention on refilling their glasses. It took him a few minutes and a lot of concentration before he got the bottle and glass correctly positioned.

"The bottle's empty," she pointed out.

"Huh." He stared blankly at the bottle, and then at her. "When'd that happen?"

Kate bit her lip to contain her laughter. "A while back, I think."

"Ask me another one anyways," he said. He set the bottle down on the table.

"Last one," she warned.

"Last one," he nodded.

"If you could make one wish, only one, what would it be?"

He stared at her, and it took her a moment to register the complete shift in his mood. She was caught off guard by the way he was looking at her, his eyes full of an unnamed emotion, of something she didn't think she'd ever seen in him before. A seriousness, determination, guilt and worry all rolled into one.

Never mind, she wanted to say, it's just a silly question. But she couldn't speak with him looking at her like that.

"I would wish the dragon back to sleep," he said, speaking slowly, feeling his way around the words.

She frowned, a confused chuckle escaped her lips. What a strange answer to get so serious over. Clearly he'd had too much, talking about mythical creatures.

"Dragon?" She laughed. "Maybe we should get you to bed."

He shook his head, eyes a bit out of focus but very earnest. "Not me. The dragon. We woke it."

She had to shake off the sudden chill at hearing him repeat those hauntingly familiar words. Where had she heard that before - McCallister, she realized with a start. That is what McCallister had told them right after Raglan's death. The thought was as sobering as a bucket of cold water.

"If I hadn't done that..." he continued. "If I'd left it alone, you would-"

"Castle." She put a hand over his. She didn't know where this was coming from, or why he'd done a 180 from goofy answers to the one thing closest to her heart, but she needed to stop him from going down this road. "I don't regret it," she said with the full measure of her conviction. "Not one bit. And you shouldn't either."

He was silent.

"Castle," she squeezed his hand, realizing that this was not the best time for a serious conversation. He probably wouldn't remember any of this in the morning. "It's late. Let's call it a night."

"I wanted to slay the dragon for you," he said. "Be the knight. But he just made a pawn of me."

That last sentence caught her attention. Her heart was pounding in her ears, she realized belatedly. Her chest tightened with phantom pain. This didn't sound like drunken ramblings; this sounded like a drunken confession.

"Pawn? What are you talking about?"

She frowned at his silence. He just kept staring at her, a silent plea held hostage in the blue of his eyes. A plea for what, though, she couldn't tell.

"Castle?"

"I want better for you," he said, eyes fixed on hers. An unfathomably deep emotion rested there. She recognized it for love. "I want y-"

"I think it's time we called it," she interrupted. Before he said something they would both regret. No, she told herself. Not like this. They were walking a minefield. She stood up quickly, and was thankful she had enough of her balance to not topple over.

He blinked up at her. The spell was broken.

"I won?" he looked at her owlishly as she towered over him.

"Hardly." She laughed, unable to help it when he looked so … cute. Her heartbeat eased and her chest loosened. It was nothing, she shook her head, berating herself for getting so worked up. They'd both just had too much to drink.

She offered him a hand up. He took it, but overcompensated when she pulled him up and ended up stumbling against her. His hands clutched at her waist in an attempt to maintain his balance.

"Whoops," he grinned boyishly, his eyes amused, brimming with affection. And completely bare of those unsettling pleas they'd held earlier. That was enough to make her ease up as she stood in the loose bracket of his arms. His large palms were warm through her shirt. She looked up at him and thought that there were times, like this, when he could be so … compelling.

They'd had too much to drink, she reminded herself. Him especially.

"Stay the night," he said.

She froze. "Uh, what?" she asked stupidly.

"Upstairs. Too late to go home." He wasn't removing his hands and she couldn't get her feet to move.

"Oh. Right. Okay."

He kept looking at her, wearing that dopey smile.

"Castle," she said in warning, but it came out on a breathless whisper. Her heart was once again pounding in her chest, but this time for an entirely different reason. She looked away, and started to move out of his hold when she felt his fingers brush aside a lock of hair from over her eyes.

"You should've asked me what's the best thing to happen to me since Alexis," he said. His voice was as warm and held the same smooth, honeyed texture as the whiskey they'd just drank way too much of. He was looking at her in that way of his; the one she couldn't describe, could only feel. "I have a a really good answer for that."

Her heart, stubborn little thing, had climbed its way up to her throat. He dropped a clumsy, sloppy, sweet kiss on her forehead. She looked at him in surprise, not quite able to process what she should be doing - besides vowing to never again get mildly drunk in Castle's presence because it made her mind slow, her reactions sluggish, and her insides all tingly-warm.

And then Castle yawned so widely his jaw cracked. This moment, also, broke. Kate felt like she was flailing for a foothold on some terribly steep cliff.

"Man," he said, letting her go. "I'm so sleepy." He blinked slowly and rubbed a hand through his hair, then across his jaw. His dopey smile was again directed at her. "I think I'll hit the sack. Just a quick nap." With that, he turned and trotted off gracelessly to his bedroom. "Sleep tight, Kate. Towels in the cupboard. Extra toothbrush," he added on a slight slur, but didn't complete the thought. Instead, he disappeared into his study.

She stared at the doorway he'd walked through, unable to keep pace with the sudden gear-switching on his part. And then she found herself laughing, a little bit breathless and very much relieved. Her first introduction to really-drunk Castle. She shook her head, and then made her way up the staircase to the guest bedroom. It was like riding a roller-coaster.

* * *

><p>Kate woke up very slowly the next morning. She blinked her eyes open and languidly stretched under the soft cotton sheets. Her head hurt, a dull ache, her throat was dry, and her breath … ugh, gross. She flipped over the covers and sat up. No dizziness, she thought with satisfaction. She just needed to drink a lot of water and eat something, and she'd be as good as new in time for lunch with her dad.<p>

Kate tumbled out of bed, slipped on her jeans and tank top, and opened her door a crack. She peeked out into the corridor, trying to determine if Alexis and Martha were either awake or anywhere near. Likely they were neither. After all, Martha was not unknown for coming home late the next day, and Alexis had been on the night shift. The girl was probably asleep, dead to the world. Kate quietly made her way to the washroom, telling herself that she was not sneaking around. When was the last time she'd done a walk of shame? Although, it wasn't as though she and Castle had - Kate quickly stopped her mind from ambling down such avenues. Her thoughts tended to get rather undisciplined when she was hungover, her usual sharp focus just gone.

In the washroom, Kate gave herself a proper once-over in the mirror. Still not terrible. She forced herself to drink two glasses of water before washing her face with cold water. She dug around the cabinets to find a spare toothbrush - she'd just settled for mouthwash last night, being too tired to do much more - and came across a bottle of painkillers. She took two of those, and finally came across a bright pink toothbrush. Kate brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth with mouthwash. Twice. She ran her fingers through her hair before deciding that perhaps going with a loose ponytail was the best course of action.

Kate cracked open the bathroom door and, when she was sure that the coast was clear, tiptoed back to the guestroom. She dug her mascara and eyeliner out of her coat pocket and applied them. There, she thought, studying her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Now she looked fit for public viewing. Or at least, for viewing by fellow New Yorkers who took the subway Sunday morning before 10AM.

Kate figured she could sneak out of here without anyone being the wiser. It was never fun to have an audience when you walked out the morning after, wearing the same clothes from the night before.

She studied her reflection in the mirror. Maybe she could wait until Castle woke up? Have breakfast? She bit her lip, giving it some thought. Really, she just wanted to get back to the refuge of her own apartment. Pick up breakfast from the diner across the street, sink into her couch with a cup of tea and recover from the night before, physically and … otherwise. She wasn't even sure how much thought she wanted to give to last night. What he'd said, how he'd looked at her … Kate's heart fluttered in her chest. She quickly clamped down on her rebellious mind. Maudlin, she told herself. Inane. Silly. She should go home, eat something, take a nap, and then go meet her dad for lunch.

She'd text Castle once she got home. Given his state last night, she'd bet he wouldn't wake up for another few hours, nor would he be very alert for most of the day.

Kate slipped on her shirt, and collected her coat and her shoes before climbing down the stairs barefoot. So far so good, she thought, as she reached the bottom step. It helped that none of his stairs creaked.

She would put her shoes on once she was outside-

"Darling," Martha's voice called out from the kitchen, "are you performing the walk of shame?"

Kate froze in her tracks. She let loose a weighty sigh. Dammit, so close.

She took consolation in the fact that at least it wasn't Alexis who'd caught her.

Slowly, she turned around to face Castle's mother head-on.

"I didn't realize you were back..." Kate began, but trailed off at the sight of Alexis standing next to Martha by the breakfast bar.

So much for consolation, Kate thought morosely.

"Clearly," Martha replied, grinning delightedly.

"Good morning, Alexis." Kate replied with what she hoped was a convincing smile. She felt terribly self-conscious, and hoped Alexis couldn't tell she was hungover. "You're up early," she tried to inject a measure of brightness in her tone and ignore how awkward this was.

And then Kate recalled all those times she'd snuck back into her parents' house after a raucous night out and been caught by her dad. She'd brazened it out then and she could damn well do the same now. In for a penny, in for a pound. It was a tried and tested - though perhaps not true - strategy.

At least she'd come out from the upstairs guestroom, and not Castle's bedroom.

She dropped her heels by the stairs, hung her coat over the banister, and made her way purposefully to the kitchen.

"Darling, please tell me your apartment did not blow up again," Martha said.

"No, no it didn't. I'm sure you've heard about the birthday gift," she told the two redheads as she pulled out a chair for herself at the breakfast bar. Well, mostly Martha. She knew through Lanie that Alexis was fully abreast of developments on that front.

"We most definitely have," Martha said, her tone betraying her approval of the scheme. "I haven't seen Richard this excited since he first started following you around." She poured Kate a cup of coffee and set it out in front of her. Kate took a much-needed sip of the ambrosial coffee Castle stocked his kitchen with and wisely refrained from addressing Martha's comment.

"Well, yesterday was Saturday number three. Castle insisted I prove Lanie right. You see," she began explaining herself to Martha, "he was convinced Lanie had been exaggerating when she'd said I could-" Kate stopped herself, remembering that Alexis was standing right there. It was one thing to tell Martha that she could drink most sailors under the table. It was another thing altogether to share such information with Castle's teenage daughter.

"You could what?" Martha leaned forward, all semblance of discretion abandoned.

"I don't think I should say." She glanced uncertainly at Alexis. "This story is terribly inappropriate."

"I fully approve of you and Richard doing terribly inappropriate things," Martha offered with a flourish of her coffee cup.

"Gram!" Alexis said, looking as mortified as Kate felt. Even Kate's toes burned up with embarrassment. She was convinced she had never blushed so forcefully in her life.

"No," she stuttered out her protest, "not like that!"

"This has to do with the empty bottle of whiskey and the shot glasses I found on the living room table," Alexis said, putting the pieces together before Kate could recover.

"Ah. If I had to guess," Martha raised one very knowing eyebrow, "I'd say Richard thought he could out-drink you."

Kate cleared her throat, shooting an apologetic glance at Alexis. "I plead the fifth?" she answered, though it came out sounding way more like a question.

So much for brazen, she thought ruefully. Perhaps her father should have taken lessons from Martha.

"Who won?" Alexis asked, clearly in an attempt to smooth over the awkwardness for Kate. Bless the child, Kate thought.

"Darling, the fact that Kate here is up and about without any sign of a hangover while your father is still knocked out cold is all the answer we need."

Kate couldn't have hid her victorious grin even if she'd wanted to. "I kicked his butt," she boasted smugly.

Martha and Alexis both laughed.

"How about celebratory omelettes?" Alexis offered.

"Shouldn't you be going to sleep?" Kate asked. "The night shift only ended a few hours ago."

"My whole schedule's been turned around since I started interning with Dr. Parish," Alexis replied as she set about cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. "I just sleep when I'm tired these days."

"She's finally on mine and Richard's sleep cycle," Martha added. "We just never thought she'd accomplish the feat by being responsible, rather than following in our footsteps and being the exact opposite."

Kate laughed. "I'd love an omelette, Alexis. Thank you. Next time, though," she continued grinning at Castle's daughter, "breakfast is on me."


	5. The Last

A/N: Last chapter! I owe the last activity of this last Saturday to eyrianone, whose comment very helpfully revealed a great gap that could be filled with story.

Thank you for reading, and for such great comments; I hope I do them justice with this final part. You guys are the cream in this story's coffee.

* * *

><p><strong>Four Saturdays (55)**

**The Last**

Castle was sitting at the breakfast bar in his kitchen with a cup of coffee, reading the newspaper, when Martha came down the stairs.

"Darling, aren't you supposed to be spending the day with Kate today?" Martha asked.

"Good morning to you, too, Mother," he replied. "And Beckett insisted on meeting me here this morning. She should be here soon."

"Things are going well, then?" She went about putting together her breakfast of yogourt and berries.

He grinned, newspaper forgotten. "Better than well."

"What's the plan for today's date?"

"It's not a date," he replied automatically.

She paused, spoon halfway through adding a dollop of yogourt to her bowl. She stared at him for a moment, before heaving a great sigh and going back to making her breakfast. "I don't know why I bother, honestly," she muttered theatrically.

Before he could ask her what she meant by that, Alexis bounded down the stairs. "Hey, Dad," she greeted, coming over to place a good morning kiss on his cheek. "How come you're still here? Don't you have a date with Beckett?"

"It's not a date." He felt like a broken record. This time his daughter gave him a disbelieving look. He was thankfully saved from having to answer by the knock at the front door.

"Aha," he said, hopping out of his chair to let her in. "And that would be the lady herself." He opened the door with a flourish.

"Good morning, Beckett," he greeted, wearing a wide smile. She was wearing a sumptuous pair of jeans - his second favourite, he decided - paired with a thick sweater, and she was carrying a large white cardboard box in her hands.

"Happy birthday!" She offered him the box.

"What's this?" he asked, lighting up with surprise. "You got me a birthday gift?"

"Your birthday is on Wednesday, isn't it?" she replied, entering his loft.

"It is! What'd you get me? I get three guesses!" He exclaimed quickly, not letting her get a word in edgewise.

"You're holding a cake-box, Castle," she pointed out. "What could you possible think I'd gotten you besides cake?"

"That was going to be my first guess, you know," he informed her.

She grinned. "Then mystery solved: I made you a cake."

"You _made_ me a cake?" he repeated dumbly. His excitement was silenced by amazement.

"Don't look at me like that!" She laughed. "Open it."

He couldn't believe she'd baked him a cake.

"Good morning, dear," Martha said, coming to join him and Kate in the foyer with Alexis in tow.

"Morning, Martha; Alexis," Kate greeted.

"Kate baked me a cake!" Castle said, turning to look at his mother and daughter. "For my birthday." He turned his attention back to the gift in his hands, glancing up at Kate as he lifted the lid on the box. "What kind of-" He stopped when he saw the incredible creation resting in the box. "Woah," he whispered. She hadn't been kidding around when she said she was good at baking cakes. It looked like it'd come right out of those fancy bakeries that catered his book launches.

"It's a seven-layer dark chocolate raspberry cake," Kate explained, "layered with marshmallow cream and caramel buttercream, the whole thing coated in chocolate ganache."

Hand to god, he almost got down on one knee and proposed to her.

"Wow," Alexis' hushed tones cut through his daze. He looked at his daughter, who along with his mother was now standing next to him, and caught the awed gaze she was levelling at the cake.

"That is remarkable," his mother said, throwing terribly unsubtle looks in his direction.

"I … I'm speechless," he said honestly. "Thank you." This, he realized, was his first homemade birthday cake.

"You, speechless? That's a first," Kate laughed. He just kept staring at her, too thoroughly touched by the gesture to register her teasing.

"Let's dig up some candles!" Martha exclaimed. She took the cake from Castle and handed it to Alexis. "And where is that cake platter?" She herded Alexis to the kitchen. "You recall the one, great Martin Scorsese gave it to me after my performance in the Broadway production of My Fair Lady..."

The two redheads faded away into the background, leaving him alone with Kate. Who was grinning brightly at him. The hell with it, he decided to follow his gut and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

"Thank you," he mumbled, his lips moving against her temple. "It's so sweet of you."

"You're welcome, Castle," she replied on a wave of laughter. "No need to break my ribs."

He didn't even loosen his hug; it was his birthday after all. Sort of. "You won't break," he said instead, and was rewarded with another laugh.

She slowly settle into his embrace, loosening in his arms, her breath warm against his neck. She was so soft, he thought. So … wonderful. He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, enjoying this unusual proximity with her.

_It is rare_, he remembered the words he'd long ago read, _that two halves actually discover each other, but when they do it is as if they have melted into one another, becoming one._

"Hey, Dad." Alexis called out from the kitchen. "We don't have 41 candles."

"Lighting that many would set off the fire alarm," quipped Martha. "Not that I'd mind seeing some men in uniform."

Kate moved out of his arms, and Castle sighed. He supposed it had to end sometime. She surprised him, though, by tugging lightly on his shirt collar and giving him another brilliant smile before heading to the kitchen. He followed her, wearing a stupid grin that he was sure wouldn't leave his face for a good week.

A half hour later, Castle sat with his family around the dining table, eating the cake Kate had made for him.

"What's the plan for today?" He asked around a mouthful of chocolate goodness. Sinfully delicious chocolate. He didn't think he'd tasted anything so divine. "This is the best cake ever," he added to no one in particular as he licked marshmallow cream off his fork.

"I thought we could turn the tables a bit," Kate replied, "and let you pick today's activities."

"Really?" he sat up straight in his chair. "But," he hesitated, suddenly overwhelmed by the responsibility being laid on his shoulders. What was she expecting? He needed to impress her. "But what sort of thing should I plan?"

"Just do what you normally do," she said with a very appealing twinkle in her eye. He heard the teasing in her voice. "I'll follow you around."

He broke into a grin. "Oh, I see what you did there. Sneaky."

"What Richard does on a normal Saturday," Martha interjected, "includes dipping apples in liquid nitrogen and dropping them from varying heights."

"Or asking us to tie him to chairs, or beds, or banisters to see whether or not he can escape," Alexis added.

"Playing Guitar Hero in his underwear," Martha said.

"Remember that one time you tried to train a monkey?"

"Or burned your eyebrows frying a turkey?"

"Ooh, and when you tried to break the world record for most Jell-o eaten in under an hour?"

Kate's attention darted from Martha to Alexis as they volleyed his escapades back and forth. Her expression was the very definition of worry. "Uh," she frowned, "maybe-"

"Oh no," said Castle with a grin. "No take-backs." he waved his cake-laden fork at her nose. "I get to pick today's activity."

"Wasn't this supposed to be research for your book?" she reminded him, clearly reaching for an excuse. "For Nikki Heat? So maybe you shouldn't get to pick."

"Is that what this was all for," asked his Mother with great interest. Kate turned to Martha, the question clear in her eyes.

"The park!" Castle said quickly - and loudly-, in an effort to head this conversation off at the pass. He had no doubt his mother would spill all the beans to Kate if she thought it meant getting her son out of his current emotional limbo.

All three women turned to him, eyebrows arched at various inclines. His mother's was the steepest.

"I have just the thing for us," he said in a more nonchalant tone. "A normal Saturday activity."

Three very skeptical frowns met his statement.

He stuffed his last forkful of cake into his mouth and stood up. "Mm. Delishus," he said around the mouthful of food. "I need more." He quickly ran off to the refuge of the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Kate ended up being pleasantly surprised when Castle ended up actually taking her out to perform a very normal Saturday activity. By Castle-standards, anyways.<p>

She sat on the grass, next to him, in a gorgeous corner of Battery Park. They were sipping on coffee and people-watching. It was, he'd told her, a favourite pastime of his, especially when he got particularly stuck on a plot-point he was writing.

"A thousand stories, Beckett," he'd said while scouting out the perfect vantage point for them. "All there for the making."

They'd arrived nearly two hours ago, and since then had done nothing but talk. What had begun as a game of trying to guess the life stories of strangers had turned into a steady stream of engaging conversation.

It was nice, she thought, to connect with someone on such a level. Her library would probably attest to the fact that she'd been attracted by Castle's mind long before she had been to his physical presence. But it was nice to be reminded of it, at times.

Underlying it all, though, she was attempting to summon up the nerve to tackle a more pressing topic. It had been nagging her for the past two weeks, since she'd seen the guilt and regret in him for those few minutes during their game of truth. As much as she tried to convince herself that he'd meant nothing by it, that he probably didn't remember what he'd even said, she couldn't forget the old adage that only drunks and children tell the truth. And perhaps now was the time to bring it up, before she lost her nerve.

"Castle?"

"Hm?"

"Do you remember what you said to me? Two weeks ago, after we'd cleaned you all out of whiskey?"

He cast her a worried glance. "What did I say? A man cannot be held responsible for what he says under the influence of alcohol."

"You said you wished you hadn't woken to dragon," she continued, ignoring his attempt at levity.

He stilled beside her.

"Castle," she turned to him. "You have to know that I don't regret it. Any of it."

The doubt was clear in every line of his body.

"If not for you, Rick, I wouldn't be where I am right now. I would never have made this much progress."

"In solving your mother's murder?" He looked away, upset. She had not thought, when they'd first met, when he'd based a character on her and her backstory, that it would be that very backstory that would come to upset him so much. He'd gone from being gung-ho about his resources and new leads in pursuing the case, to telling her to let it rest.

You're in a terrible place, she thought ruefully, when a man who doesn't know the meaning of the term 'risk-averse' wants you to pull back and be cautious.

"No," she replied. "I don't mean in solving the case." When he turned back to look at her, waiting expectantly for an answer, she lost some of her courage. She focused her attention on the bright shards of grass by their feet, unable to watch his reaction to such vulnerability on her part. "I meant in becoming the kind of person I deserve to be. If you hadn't reopened my mom's case, I wouldn't have seen that I've been working so hard, for so long, at keeping that wall in place." She hesitated for only an instant, before forging ahead. "It's why I wanted you to come visit my mom with me."

He stayed completely silent and she didn't dare look at him.

She huffed out a breath. "I'm not doing a very good job of explaining myself."

"I think you're doing great, actually."

"I just … I want to work at this. I want to tear the wall down. Or at least, dismantle it brick by brick." She laughed self-consciously, flicking her gaze to his, "I'm killing this analogy, aren't I?"

"No," he shook his head, "no you aren't killing it." He shrugged lightly, but she caught the teasing spark in his eye. "Beating it unconscious, perhaps..."

She rewarded him with a sideways smile. He always knew what to say, to appease her restless, dissatisfied, struggling heart.

"Everything that happened," she said, trying to offer him something, trying to be brave, "it's been hard these last few months. It's been a lot of work."

"Since the funeral?"

"No," she shook her head, "before then."

"You don't remember what happened that day?" he asked tentatively.

"I can't … deal with all that yet." A non-answer, if she'd ever heard one. She didn't know what else to say. It threatened to swallow her up, if she let it, the horror of that day, the searing pain of the events surrounding it. She was still working at being able to face it head-on with her therapist. But some days it just seemed so big, and she felt insignificant against it.

"Kate-"

"I know," she interrupted him, a little impatiently, before taking a deep, leveling breath. She continued in a more measured tone: "Not healthy, I know. You don't need to tell me. I'm trying to tackle it little by little." Thankfully, it didn't come out sounding too defensive.

He was quiet for long moments. She could feel the dissatisfaction radiating from him.

"What about your mother's case?" he asked. He was studying her too closely, too carefully. "Is that something you're pursuing?" All these questions he hadn't asked her when they'd downed shots, instead forcing her to face them when sober.

She took another deep breath. "I … I know, intellectually, that I need to let it go. Maybe I have to learn to be okay with not knowing..."

"But?"

"But I don't know if I can," her voice broke. She cleared her throat, annoyed with her sudden weakness. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to be okay with not giving her the truth."

"You're the strongest person I know."

"You're biased."

"I am not biased," he replied with surprise.

"Come on, Castle, you based a tough, no-holds barred, practically super-heroic fictional character on me."

He opened his mouth to say something, but after a moment's hesitation decided to keep quiet.

"What?" she asked, now curious. Castle choosing to keep quiet was a rare event.

He kept hesitating.

"I think we've set a precedent for painful honesty here, Rick. Don't stop now."

He studied her for a moment, before giving in. She braced herself, remembering how he'd read her the first time, three years ago, after knowing her for barely a few hours.

"I do think you're extraordinary, Kate," he said. "Nothing could convince me otherwise." He met her gaze. "But that doesn't mean I'm blind to your … flaws." He shrugged, and she could see on his face that he was pulling his courage from some place deep and seldom-tapped. "You had no control over the most important event in your life, and you make up for that by trying to control every other aspect. From your job, to your relationships, to your emotional response to the loss of those you love. Like … Montgomery." He trailed off, uncertain, afraid no doubt, of her reaction.

At hearing those words, she could say that the cathartic effects of honesty were undeniable. But so was the scathing hurt. And it was the hurt that stopped her from telling him the full truth about what she remembered. Once she faced that conversation, they'd be no turning back. She would have to look it in the eye, all of it, and find out how she measured up against it. Against the truth that she'd been stonewalled by Montgomery during those years when she thought he was helping her. She'd cared deeply for him, she respected him. She didn't think less of him, wouldn't let herself, but still the cut of betrayal stung. He'd been hurting her, all while trying to protect her. On those days when she couldn't see past the mystery of her mother's murder, it hit her hardest that he'd played the puppeteer in her single-minded quest for answers, and the strings had slit through her skin. She remembered what Castle had said about being made into pawns-

"Kate?"

She snapped out of her thoughts, only to realized she'd been pressing her palm into her chest.

"Are you okay?" He asked, worried. His eyes flicked to where her hand was placed over her heart. "Does it still hurt?"

She shook her head.

"I didn't mean to-"

"No," she said quickly, before he could apologize. "I asked for it. And maybe I needed to hear it."

He looked miserable. Just as she felt.

He placed his hand over hers, where it rested on her knee. His large palm completely engulfed her smaller one. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

"Getting there," she replied. It was the most honest answer she could give. He squeezed her hand.

"Thank you," he said. "For talking to me. For telling me all this."

She nodded. Part of trying to be the person she wanted to be for him, for herself.

The affection he was directing at her lifted her spirits, gave her a strength she didn't always believe she had. She didn't trust herself to speak, but from the way he was looking at her, she trusted that he knew what she wanted to say.

"Come on," he said. He stood up, pulling her along with him. "Enough heavy stuff. It's time for Phase Two of 'A Day in the Life of Richard Castle'." He grinned. "You're in for a treat."

* * *

><p>Beckett couldn't quite understand how she'd let Castle talk her into this. He was a silver-tongued devil. There was no other way to explain it.<p>

"This is a terrible idea!" she yelled at him over the sound of running motors and the wind whipping about their faces.

"It's an AWESOME idea!" he yelled back. "I've always wanted to try this!"

"You are never again picking what we do!" He'd said they were going for a drive out of the city. It was supposed to be a normal Saturday activity. "This is not normal!" she yelled. "And this is not a simple drive outside the city!"

"Scared?" He grinned from ear to ear.

"Yes!" she yelled back, not ashamed to admit it. Her competitive spirit was huddled in a dark corner of the plane, waiting for deliverance. "I'm a normal human being! Of course I'm scared! Who the hell would want to jump out of a moving plane?" she had the presence of mind to turn to the parachute instructor who was snapping himself into place behind her. "No offense to you, Mark."

"None taken!" Mark grinned back. "But don't worry: I'm a trained professional, and you'll be tethered to me for the entire jump."

"Ready?" Castle's instructor, John, asked him. Castle nodded enthusiastically and gave two thumbs up for good measure. His eyes were bright with delight as he looked at Kate.

"This is going to be great!" he squealed.

She glanced out the plane doors. Great, her foot. She was all for a healthy dose of excitement and a bit of daredevilry, but for god's sakes they'd only had a fifteen minute lesson before the instructors had herded her and Castle onto the plane. She was never scared. Not of anything. Hadn't been since she'd refused that nightlight as a kid.

But this.

Jumping out of a plane with no control at all over the fall or the parachute deployment or the landing … just letting someone else do it while she hung on for the ride … She'd tried to convince Castle to sign up for the longer lessons culminating in a solo jump after hours of preparation and training, but he'd refused. She needed time, just a bit more, to ready herself-

"Hey," Castle called out to her. She pulled her attention away from the open plane doors and the wide sky beyond, to look at him. "Just live in the moment," he said with a smug wink. "It's not so bad, you'll see!"

Before she could fully register that he'd taken her parachuting because he wanted to make a point about the control issues he'd brought up in the park not two hours ago, Castle and John leaped out of the plane.

Before she could properly feel the full brunt of her indignation at being taught a lesson by Ricard-freaking-Castle, Mark tethered himself to her.

And before she could get a word of protest in edgewise, he thrust them out of a moving plane into nothing but a vast expanse of blue.

Her heart seized in sudden terror at what she was doing. Her hands were fisted tightly, eyes clenched shut, her breathing difficult to regulate.

She had the presence of mind to get into the position Mark had instructed her on during the fifteen minute training session, and it was just enough to help her swallow her fear. She forced her eyes open and took in her surroundings...

It was gorgeous, she realized with a start.

The wind whipped around her as they dropped in a free-fall towards earth. The air was sharp and cool, the sun warm against her face. Her heart pounded in her ears. And the view.

The view of the city was nothing short of remarkable, where it towered over in the distance. She opened her arms in a wide embrace, absorbing every aspect of the experience. The fear she'd felt moments ago, nothing but a forgotten memory.

She caught sight of Castle and John hurtling down only a few feet away from them, and waved at him. Castle waved back.

The breath-taking beauty, the heart-pumping exhilaration of this washed over her, and she couldn't keep the grin off her face. And then she was laughing, unable to stop herself.

Mark directed her movements, maneuvering them in the nothingness of sky, the unyielding pull of gravity and push of aerodynamic drag, until she was an arm's length away from Castle and his instructor. Castle held out an arm towards her, with neither hesitation nor trepidation in his movements. She slipped her hand into his and held on tight as they fell downwards, the wind whistling around them.

"Amazing!" Castle yelled. He was grinning. She nodded, the warmth of his grip adding a whole new level of exhilaration to their free-fall.

Amazing, she thought. Stunning. She couldn't keep the smile off her face as her eyes got caught up in his. As blue as the sky, she noted. This time she couldn't blame alcohol intoxication for her maudlin thoughts.

Mark indicated with a hand-signal that they needed to part, because it was nearing time to pull the cord. Kate let go of Castle's hand and, with a final wave, they put enough space between them to safely deploy the parachutes. Kate braced herself for the sudden jerk. The parachute unfurled, abruptly slowing their descent, and then they were floating downwards. The vast expanse of sky was above her; the city with everything in it, below her; and just a few feet to her right, was Castle.

When they landed - very smoothly, she had to credit her instructor - Kate waited for Mark to untether her before walking over to Castle.

"You did all that to make a point?" she asked, more amused than anything after what was a humbling, thrilling experience.

He grinned, completely unashamed. There was a childish excitement in his eyes; his cheeks were flushed.

"I had to get the upperhand in something," he said, and then added: "And I demand a rematch at lasertag."

She burst into laughter. "Unbelievable," she said, but she was grinning so widely her cheeks hurt.

"How about I make it up to," he said. "Dinner? My treat."

"You're damned right it's your treat," she said. "Tricking me like that. 'It's just a drive outside the city, Beckett'," she mimicked what he'd told her when they'd left the park earlier in the day.

"Oh, is that what you heard?" There was a patent exaggeration in his tone. "I said 'dive', not 'drive'; you must have misheard."

She smacked his arm. "Don't try and pull that on me."

He looked at her with a flicker of uncertainty. "You enjoyed it, right?"

"Enjoyed it?" Kate echoed, her face still stretched into a dancing grin. "It was incredible!"

He laughed, bouncing on his toes, and unleashed the full extent of what she could only call euphoria. "I know, right!" he gushed. "It was even better than I'd imagined! You could see the entire city from up there! So. Cool. We have to do this again!"

"Definitely," she replied.

He looked so happy, bubbling with excitement in the sunlight, with his hair all tussled from the wind. She gave into her impulse to smooth it out. It was a quick movement, just to move his bangs off his forehead before her hand its way back to her side, but it was enough to make her heart beat a little quicker.

"Dinner's waiting," he said, voice laced with affection. His twinkling blue eyes fixed on hers, and she for a moment could swear she felt the wind suddenly pick up.

* * *

><p>Castle felt a sad sort of melancholy overtake him as he walked Kate to her apartment later that night. This was their last Saturday. What a thoroughly depressing thought. And now they'd reached her door and she would walk in and he'd have no excuse to see her outside of catching cases.<p>

"I had fun today." Her eyes were luminous in the dim light of the hallway.

"So did I," he replied. "Not just today." They'd learned a lot about each other in the last few weeks. He didn't want to stop seeing her like this, with no cases occupying her mind, so uninhibited in her happiness. The look on her face earlier today, when she'd taken off her goggles after their parachute jump. That was the real reason he'd taken her; he just wanted to take away that sadness from her eyes, even if for a little while. He wished he'd had a camera to preserve the smile she'd given him.

He'd suspected it since their first Saturday together, but standing in her darkened hallway, he was fully convinced: it wouldn't be enough to go back to spending 99% of their time together solving murders. He wanted more. So badly. He wondered how he could bring it up, could he just ask her for it? What would she say?

She leaned up on her toes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. His heart galloped; his fingers tingled. His mind went blank.

"I'll see you," she said, her breath warm on his skin. She pulled back, her eyes tender and … expectant?

A raw energy lit up his nerve endings. His palms started to sweat. This was his chance, he realized. He would ask for more. He could do it.

He tried to smile but he was suddenly nervous and didn't know what to do with himself. Ask her now, the voice in his head screamed. But hadn't she said she was working on it? Should he push? Did she want him to? How should he ask? Maybe he should let her set the pace... "On Monday," he heard himself saying. "I'll be the guy holding the cups of coffee."

Something flickered in her eyes, it was there for a only a moment, and then it was gone.

"Night, Castle." She opened her door and walked into her apartment. Disappointment deflated his lungs. The nervous buzz fizzled into a dull ache as another opportunity slipped him by.

"Until tomorrow, Kate," he said, biting back a sigh.

"By the way, Castle," she turned to look at him, leaning against the doorjamb, and holding the door open just wide enough to frame her face. His heart stuttered mid-beat as the air around her simmered with expectation. Her expression unfurled into a slow smile. "You owe me four years worth of backlogged birthday gifts."

He felt the ground move away, felt the wind whipping past his ears, nothing but sky all around them and her beside him, clutching his hand as they dropped in a free-fall. He broke into a beaming grin, felt the irrepressible urge to laugh.

"You won't know what hit you," he vowed.

She slipped fully into her apartment and shut the door, but her bright smile, full of promises, stayed with him.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

What would tomorrow bring for them? He didn't know, but a warm, wide-reaching, all-encompassing thrill filled him.

He'd pulled out the first brick from that wall, the first step in bringing it tumbling down. She'd let him, in fact she'd helped him pull it out, and he'd looked through to the other side and seen a Kate Beckett unencumbered by her mother's murder. Shaped by it, yes. Made stronger by it, definitely. But not - and this is what filled his heart - not defined by it.

It was a thing of beauty to behold.

* * *

><p>the end. Or, if you will permit me to be trite: the beginning...<p>

The line is from Plato's _Symposium_.


End file.
